The Gentleman and the Adventurer
by eleanorc
Summary: It's the 18th century and Lady Edith is longing for adventure, though she has resigned herself to a life of tedium and duty. Then, one night, everything changes...
1. Chapter 1

Edith Crawley had been a pleasant child, always doing what she was told and minding her governess. She spoke softly, used the proper flatware at meals, and she never questioned her father, even when she was most certain he was wrong. When Edith grew weary of her older sister Mary's beauty, or her younger sister Sybil's sweetness, she would hide in the gardens or the attics and read. She longed for adventure and dreamed of storming castles and rescuing villages and traveling to faraway lands where she would meet snake charmers and painted ladies.

When Edith was twelve her father, the Earl of Grantham, announced that the family would move to a fine manse in the British West Indies, where he would be Governor of a small Island and oversee British trade in spice and other wares. For Edith it was the promise of adventure, and for her mother and sisters it was a death sentence.

"Of course _you_ don't mind," Mary had said. "You have no hope in society. But what will _I _do?"

As it happened, all Crawley ladies were to be disappointed. Edith did not find adventure, and Mary did not find a complete lack of society. Instead, the mysterious and exotic Caribbean turned out to be a British Colony with the same rules, a miniature Town, London with sunshine. And even the sunshine was not so alluring, as Edith was forbidden to linger in it lest she 'get a color like a laborer.'

Edith Crawley was just as bored and suffocated in Saint Agnes as she had been in Yorkshire, and worse, she was just as misplaced. Still, with no reason to believe anything could change, Edith refused to make life difficult for herself. She followed her parents and sisters to balls and cricket matches, behaving and biding her time until, god willing, anything at all would happen to her.

When the young and rakish Michael Gregson, whose family owned the largest shipping company aside from the East India, set eyes on her, Edith went along with it. What else had she to do? And anyway, in their most private moments, quite few and far between, he promised her grand adventure, sailing to the little islands she'd never before been permitted to see.

Their courtship had been long and formal, drawn out even further by Mary's engagement to Matthew Crawley, a distant cousin. Mary had to be courted, betrothed, and wed before she'd allow Edith any such pleasure. Edith had been in no hurry, but resented Mary's demands nonetheless.

And so, at just twenty years old, Edith Crawley felt as tired and bored and useless as anyone who had lived a hundred years of tedium. She had her books, and she had her fantasies, and aside from that it was all a wash. She drifted by like the pieces of sea grass that littered the beach she had never been allowed to visit.

It was April when the young Mr. Gregson came calling, requesting a private audience with Edith. With Mary's wedding taking place the following month in London, Edith saw little harm in her father's agreeing to a walk. She had been cooped up all day and felt downright feverish with monotony.

Papa ordered a formal dinner, which she barely touched as he and Michael talked business for nearly two hours. After a frozen lemon sorbet, Edith found herself walking beside Mr. Gregson in the West Garden, staring out at the ocean, wondering how warm it might feel to the touch.

A salty mist rolled off of the waters and blanketed the beach below. The only sounds to be heard were that of the waves crashing onto shore and the occasional gull. The black sky loomed overhead, stars dulled by a low, thin overcast, and made the earth seem small and wonderless.

As Michael rambled on about something uninteresting, Edith stared dejectedly into the distant night and resigned herself to the notion that her fate was sealed. Unless she could find the nerve to do something bold, she would never know anything else. She cursed herself a coward and swatted at a large mosquito that tried to get at her neck.

"And anyway, that's not why I requested this audience with you," Michael finally finished, bringing Edith out of her melancholy reveries.

Michael was the oldest of the three Gregson brothers, and the most ridiculous. Their family had been one of the first to settle in the Caribbean and they practically owned the monopoly on spice and sugar exports from St. Croix to St. Thomas. His thirty-five years looked far older on his weathered, angular face and his small dark eyes told Edith next to nothing about his soul.

"Edith," he called. Unbeknownst to her Michael had stopped several yards behind her. He stood formally, both hands tucked behind his back.

"Michael, it's getting late and we've wandered outside the property. Papa will be displeased," Edith asserted.

"Your father knows you're with me, Edith. I give him no cause to worry at all. He knows I'll keep you in line and out of trouble."

Edith bristled at his words, but tried to hide it as she'd been taught. Still, the idea of bending to this man's will made her cringe. Always eager to subtly push his buttons, Edith said, "Mama has always approved of you, Michael. Papa I wouldn't be so confident about."

"I don't worry about him. He knows what I have to offer. Which is why he did not hesitate to grant me permission to marry you."

Edith spun around, eyes wide. "You asked him for," she began, but Michael interrupted.

"Yes, Edith. We're going to be married. That is, if you'll have me," he amended as if merely for show, dropping one knee to the path. Michael looked up slowly, his eyes searching Edith for an answer. He looked smug, and almost bored, which she found as ironic as it was infuriating.

The wind rustled through the palm trees and surrounding foliage, and she took a deep breath, listening for the ocean. Whenever she felt as though she might die of suffocation, as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the whole of Earth, Edith would close her eyes and listen for the waves. On the tiny Island her father ruled as King it could almost always be heard, reassuring her that the unknown still existed—even if she'd never reach it.

Marry Michael Gregson? She couldn't. But what choice had she?

Just as Edith opened her mouth to speak there was a crunching in the bushes near by. She snapped her head at the noise, wondering if some animal might jump out and do her the mercy of swallowing her up.

It was an animal of sorts, but no jungle beast she had hoped for. A man, massive and dark with a thick mustache stepped out. He was bald, save for the curling tattoo over his scalp, and his shadowy eyes were lined with charcoal.

"Who are you?" Edith asked, sounding much braver than she felt. He was no local, and he looked terribly angry, and in the back of her mind she knew what a man his size could do to a maiden like herself if he chose.

"Edith, step away," Gregson sniffed, pulling a dagger from his walking cane as if that would do any good. Even in the moment Edith rolled her eyes at the man's misplaced bravado. "Run along, brute, or I will skin you and use your hide as bag behind my carriage horses."

Suddenly there were men running at them from all directions, brandishing machetes and swords. Two of them seized Edith before she even had time to react and she let out a little screech. "Unhand me!"

One of the men was young, with striking gray eyes and jet-black hair, and looked inappropriately amused by the whole thing. The other was older, rounder, with a great hook of a nose and thick, bushy eyebrows. The one with the eyebrows spoke, and his voice resonated like a great French horn. "Sorry, Milady, but you'll be coming with us."

Edith's eyes grew wide with fear and disbelief. "Michael, please. Stop them!" she cried, kicking at nothing as they held her well above the ground. So much for the feminine ideal of petite grace. Right now Edith longed to be tall like an Amazonian native.

Michael's eyes darted around as more and more men strode silently from the surrounding greenery. His free hand twitched and the hand gripping his dagger fell limp to his side. "I'm sorry, but I seem to be quite outnumbered," he muttered weakly.

The entire sorted party seemed to hold their breath, waiting for someone to make a move. And of course it was Michael, who scampered away in the direction of the house.

"Do we go after him?" asked one of the others, a young boy who couldn't have been older than Edith, with floppy blonde hair and a built-in grin.

"No," said the great man with the mustache. "We go."

It wasn't until they were skirting the little local village on the other side of the island that Edith was set down to walk on her own feet. Mustache man walked beside her, eyes forward, and she had a feeling he was her keeper.

The man was broad and towering, and the way he lingered coolly behind the rest showed that he was no lackey. His strength wasn't just physical, that was clear, and Edith could only come to one conclusion—he was their leader.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded of the man as he strode along beside her. She had to take two steps for each of his just to keep up, and she found herself stumbling along the cobblestones and mud, tripping in the hems of her skirts.

The man said nothing.

"You have to give me some indication of where we're going. I can't keep this pace up much longer. I demand to know." She mustered all the haughtiness of her class, sounding as much like her sister Mary as she could manage.

The great man looked sideways at her as if tracking an annoying fly in his peripheral view, and then huffed once. In a thick accent Edith couldn't place he said, "We're going to the ship."

"The ship?" she shrieked, indignant and terrified. "No! I'm not _sailing_ somewhere. Absolutely not. And why me? What do you want with me? I don't understand!"

"If you aren't quiet, milady, we'll have to gag you, and I really don't want to do that, please," said the man with the bushy eyebrows who came up behind her.

"If you think," she began, but she stopped herself. When Sybil was young and she wanted something, she would drop to the floor, holding her breath, and refuse to move. Dead-weight, she'd called it. It worked nearly every time, too. Edith, so unpracticed in the art of tantrum throwing, figured she might as well give it a go.

Stopping so suddenly that the men behind her stacked up on each other, Edith raised her chin in the air, folded her arms over her chest, and said "I'm not taking another step." Then, with as much dignity as she could gather, she dropped to the ground. The skirts of her gray silk gown billowed up around her, and she tried not to notice the mud seeping through her once-pristine underthings.

"Pardon me, Miss," the dark man muttered apologetically before clamping one hand over her mouth and wrapping the other around her waist. He picked her up and held her slightly away from his body, his arm locked around her waist as her legs kicked out frantically behind him. No amount of squirming was sufficient. He managed to hold her in place while applying hardly any pressure at all.

Glaring up at the man, she was almost appreciative of the fact he had yet to hurt her. But being caged in his iron grip without cause was enough to hate him, surely, and so she ignored the almost pained expression on his great round face as he carried her to 'the ship,' whatever that meant.

Edith didn't have to wait long to find out. It seems that by 'ship' the great man meant a ship. She rolled her eyes at herself. It was massive, and would have been grand with a little polish and perhaps some cleaning. It rocked against the dock, creaking and moaning as the water lapped around its hull.

"The Ship," the man holding her announced, as if introducing her. There was almost a glimmer of pride in his eyes, and she realized he must be the captain.

The other men all boarded, some of them bringing crates or satchels with them. Edith was carried up a ramp, over the deck where a dozen or so men all worked at various tasks, and then inside. A narrow passage, made of polished wood and lit by hanging lanterns, led to a series of doors. One was thrown open and Edith was dropped unceremoniously onto a small but soft bunk that took up the entire back wall.

Without another word the man left, and Edith heard the lock click behind him.

Finally alone and in silence, she could process what had just occurred. One minute Michael was proposing, the next a band of miscreants were carrying her away. Edith knew she should probably be afraid for her life, or worse for her virtue, but they had all been quite careful not to hurt her.

The room she'd been placed in was small but comfortable enough. Above the bed a porthole offered a view of the sea, and there was a chest of drawers and a small writing desk, and even a worn but elegant rug. On the wall hung a mirror with a gilded frame and on the desk was an antique vase and a series of crystal bottles, one of which held some fresh blooms. It would have been almost lovely, if she hadn't been kidnapped.

On the whole, Edith was forced to admit, Michael Gregson's proposal was the greatest horror of the evening. The thought of being married to him, bound by god and law to a man as superficial and vacant as he—well it made her stomach turn.

Still, being at the mercy of a random group of unwashed scoundrels was not the ideal alternative.

Deciding she wasn't afraid, exactly, Edith approached the door. She knew it would be locked, and trying the doorknob only confirmed it. "I demand to speak with the captain!" she shouted, hoping anyone would hear. She waited, and minutes later when she heard the thumping of boots pass her door she said again, "I demand an explanation! I want to speak to your captain! Or whoever is in charge of this whole bloody endeavor!"

It was the first time in her life Edith had cursed. Her mother would have fainted, and despite the very real danger of her situation, Edith released a giddy little laugh at the small liberation.

Feeling bolder, Edith raised her fist to the door, when suddenly it swung open. A man, even taller than the one who'd carried her aboard but not nearly as thick, stepped inside the little cabin. He wore tall boots and black breeches with a simple linen shirt and a navy waistcoat. He was long, and a bit lanky, but still broad in the chest and shoulders. His faced was soft, his expression relaxed, and he looked over Edith with bright, intelligent eyes that reminded her of the color of the bay at sunrise.

Finding her voice, Edith stumbled back a few steps before squaring her shoulders and demanding, "I said I wanted to speak to the captain."

"Yes, or whoever is in charge of the whole 'bloody' endeavor, so you said," was the man's cool reply, and Edith was surprised to find his tone soft and his accent polished.

"So," she huffed impatiently, "Where's he gone to?"

To her further confusion, the man's thin lips twitched just slightly and he gestured for her to take a seat. She did, her body trained from years of polite society to accept the invitation before her consciousness could think to stop. "Who is it you expected to see?"

"The man that carried me here. He's clearly the one all the others listen to."

"You're quite observant, aren't you?"

Edith scowled. "Don't patronize me. I demand to know why I've been brought here, and what you plan to do with me, and where the captain has gone to."

The tall man rubbed his brow thoughtfully for a moment then looked back at Edith. "That man, the one who carried you here, his name is Dovey, and he's not the captain. This ship will be leaving port in twenty minutes. Where we're sailing next is of no concern to you. No harm will come to you aboard this vessel, and you will be provided with the necessities, but make no mistake, Miss. You are a prisoner here, and will be indefinitely."

"Why?" she asked, making sure her voice remained firm.

"You are Michael Gregson's intended, are you not?"

To this she had no reply. Her mouth opened to offer one, but no sound came.

"You look like a fish, gaping like that," he said quietly. "Do you have any more questions?"

Edith felt fury turn her cheeks pink. "A great many more, thank you!"

"Such as?" he asked, seeming slightly exasperated.

"Who are these men and who are you?" she spat.

To this the man bowed in mock formality, straightened, and with a true twinkle in his eye said, "These men are pirates, and I am their captain. Welcome aboard the Lady Locksley."

* * *

A/N: SO, it's Edith and Anthony and pirates! This story will include revenge, romance, sword fights, and so much more. This is meant to be fun, and some historical inaccuracies are probably inevitable-I'm not pirating scholar. Roll with it. :)

Thanks as ever for reading and reviewing!

Much love,  
Eleanor


	2. Chapter 2

Lady Edith Crawley and the Captain of the Lady Locksley simmered in silence for a long while, observing each other. Edith refused to look away, or collapse into her skirts like the shrinking violet this man obviously assumed she was. He didn't seem menacing, only… determined? That was the best word she could think of. Certain perhaps, unmoving even, but not vicious.

Still, she was a young woman taken aboard a ship against her will, soon to set sail if the Captain was to be believed, with twenty-odd men and no chaperone.

"What are you going to do to me?" Edith asked, standing again and working hard to keep her voice steady and bold.

To her immense surprise, the Captain looked a bit upset, as though she had offended him. "I told you, no harm will come to you aboard this vessel."

"And when I'm not aboard this 'vessel'?" She wanted to avoid loopholes or trickery, as if it would help. She really was at his mercy.

Surprising her again, the Captain dropped his head and sighed. "You won't be harmed. I promise you, we are not in the business of defiling young women, however petulant and spoiled they may be."

"Petulant and spoiled?" she shrieked, stomping a foot. She felt anger tint her cheeks.

The Captain didn't respond, but only cocked his head slightly. She had just proven his point.

"If I am a prisoner, why haven't you taken me to the brig?" she challenged.

"The brig? What, are you in the navy?" he mocked gently, calling her on her falsified bravado. "This will be your room, while you're with us. Although if you'd like to be stowed below with the salted fish and the oil and the cannons, you're more than welcome."

"So I'm to stay in here indefinitely am I?"

"That's up to you, Miss. You will stay in here until we set sail, but while we are at sea you're free to wander. No place on this ship is forbidden to you, aside from the men's private quarters. If you want to see those you'll have to take it up with my crew."

Edith gasped at the implication, and yet again the man stunned her by…blushing? Edith was beyond confused. "That's not what I meant," the Captain said.

Despite herself, and her valiant efforts, Edith felt her body relax a bit, and suddenly she was quite tired.

"Won't you please sit?" the Captain asked, looking truly perturbed that she might be less than comfortable.

Edith dropped to the bed again folding her arms across her chest as she scowled at the floor.

"It's two days travel to the next port," the Captain informed. "Dovey will bring your meals, unless you wish to eat with the crew."

"And what am I to do for the next two days?" Edith asked, stopping the Captain at the door.

"I don't know, whatever it is you usually do to pass the time—napping and sighing and swooning and dreaming about weddings and whatnot."

"You know next to nothing about me," Edith said, her voice full of disdain.

"But I know plenty about your class and their rules," the man countered, turning to leave again.

"Wait!" Edith called, and he stopped once more, his large hand still resting on the door handle. "Do you have a name other than Captain?"

"Why?"

"So I know who to curse," Edith said coolly with a flick of her hand. And even she couldn't tell if she was joking or being nasty.

"Anthony," the Captain said after a moment, "Anthony Strallan."

With that, the door to Edith's cabin was shut, and she was left in silence to ponder all that had happened and her what next move might be.

Edith felt when the ship pulled anchor, and heard orders being shouted to and by the crew. She watched the sky teeter through her little porthole, and watched as it turned from navy to purple to cerulean. Edith refused to let herself sleep, badly as her body asked for it. The fight was made easier by her corset, which prevented her from relaxing, or laying down, or even taking deep breaths.

Propped stiffly against the corner of her bunk, eyes staring blankly up at a cloudless morning, Edith barely lifted her head from the wood-paneled wall until Dovey came in with a tray of food as promised. He said nothing, but set the meal on the writing desk gingerly, like he might shatter the whole thing. Given his stature, Edith wondered if he was used to unintentionally breaking things.

Like femurs, and fibulas, and clavicles.

She shuttered.

"Cold?" he asked, causing Edith's jaw to fall open a bit. She had him marked as a muscular dunce, not a man who noticed something as subtle as a lady's chill.

Before she could answer no, he opened the bottom of the small wardrobe and pulled out a basic wool blanket. He threw it over her with masculine inelegance, ruffling her hair in the process, then left as quickly as he'd entered.

Edith smiled and laughed once through her nose before returning to her situation. They were her captors. No amount of chivalry or unexpected quirks would make up for that. She was determined to be angry, and luckily being dogged was one of her greatest abilities. Edith might be worthless in many ways, of little use other than a breeder to a future husband, but she could out-stubborn the most determined of mules.

Leaving the bread, papaya, pineapple, and some sort of poultry untouched, Edith turned back to the window. Captain Strallan had said to do whatever she always did to occupy her time, which usually meant reading. Without books she was forced to resort to her own thoughts.

Edith wondered how frantic her family was, if Michael had gone for help. She seemed to remember him running, with fair speed, in the opposite direction of trouble. If ever she needed confirmation of her distaste for the man, that did it.

Unwilling to be idle for too long, Edith conducted a search of the room. Everything was empty save for another drawer of bedding, a box of stationary in the desk with no quill or ink, and a small box of ladies' toiletries in the dresser—a toothbrush, some verbena soap, a hairbrush, and a soft linen cloth.

Noises of men came through at all times, muffled though they usually were, shouting seafaring lingo that meant nothing to her. Never did Edith hear the Captain, and she mused that his soft voice would hardly raise to a bellow anyway.

She was ignored, and left alone, and was mostly grateful for it, though she did wish she had more answers. The seasickness she'd been fighting since coming aboard was not improving either. On the great list of good and poor that she was keeping, Edith figured the columns were relatively even for the time being.

It wasn't until the sun was well down that Dovey returned, holding another tray. He moved to set it down, looked flummoxed by the full plates of wilted food and dried bread from the morning, looked at Edith with a frown, and left.

"Well," she muttered for the sake of hearing her own voice. "Not much for conversation, that one."

"No, he doesn't say much," Captain Strallan answered, letting himself into Edith's room. Then, as if remembering himself, his steps faltered. "May I come in?"

Edith sneered at him. "You failed to ask my permission to take me from my home, why ask if you can enter my cell?"

Strallan took a deep breath and pressed his lips together. "Why haven't you eaten?"

"Why do you care?" Edith asked, unwilling to tell him her nausea and her corset were only two of the many reasons she hadn't touched the food.

"Because a starvation protest will do little good to any of us. Please eat."

"No."

"Why?" he demanded, his patience waning.

Edith refused to submit. "Because I don't want it. So unless you're going to force it down my throat, I suggest you leave me in peace."

"Fine. Don't eat," he said, hands clenching in fists. "I'm sorry we can't provide in the manner to which you're accustomed, Milady." He said _Milady_ in a way that was utterly scornful. "I'm afraid we enjoy a simpler lifestyle aboard the Lady Locksley. No iced caviar or raspberry pudding."

"I don't," Edith began, about to assure him there was nothing wrong with the quality of her meal, but something in his quarrelsome expression made her decide it didn't matter. "Never mind."

"No, by all means! You've been nothing but stroppy since you've come aboard. Why stop now?"

"Stroppy! You've abducted me without cause or reason, and you expect me to be, what, complacent, polite, _grateful_?" Edith fought. Her voice was at least an octave higher, so outraged was she by his remarks.

"I had reason and cause, and you needn't concern your feeble, high-bred mind with them," Strallan replied, squaring his shoulders and stretching to his full height. Without his stoop, Edith noticed, he was quite intimidating. "And as no one has threatened your life, harmed your person, or required you to lift one silver-dipped finger here, I see no cause for your hostility."

"I've been manhandled, locked away, deprived of human interaction, I'm tired, my stomach is rolling, and I want a bath!" Edith countered, fighting the urge to cry in frustration.

Something in the Captain's demeanor changed suddenly. A humorous spark in his eye, a glint of boyish mischief, and his posture relaxed. Edith looked at him sideways, wary of the shift.

"A bath is all you require, Milady?"

Edith frowned, deciding it wise not to answer.

"A bath can be arranged. Fresh water is too valuable to waste, but I assure you, if you wish to take a rinse we can sort something out."

"No," Edith murmured, taking a step back. "No, I'll manage."

"Truly, Milady, it would be my pleasure," the Captain said, bowing formally. He looked up at Edith from his lowered position with a floppy smile, and she was truly afraid.

"No, no. I'll be fine. Just go, please," she said, her voice airy and panicked at once. She backed away from him until her knees hit the bunk, but Strallan strode forward, crossing the room in three great steps. Edith scrambled onto the bed, looking ridiculous, as though she were trying to keep her feet from a rodent on the floor.

"No, Milday. You've made it quite clear your accommodations are less than ideal, that you're unhappy, and that you would like to freshen up. We aim to please, truly, as your humble servants," Strallan said as he advanced. His voice never raised, but Edith didn't like his expression.

Before she knew what was happening he had her over his shoulder, easily managing her as she kicked and punched.

"Where are you taking me? Stop it! What do you think you're doing?" Edith shouted, hoping the growl in her voice masked the fear she felt.

"For a bath, as you requested, Milday," Strallan replied, carrying her down the hall and to the deck.

The sea air hit her hard, and Edith hadn't realized how cooped up she'd been in that little space for twenty-four hours. The sails were down and the ship was drifting in the relatively still water.

The men that happened to be outside all paused whatever they were doing and watched, most of them looking perplexed and some even frightened. The man with the bushy eyebrows looked downright stricken and gulped apologetically as he made eye contact with Edith.

"Captain?" the suave, dark-haired man asked, pursing his lips and looking quite bemused by the situation.

"Lady Edith wanted a bath, Barrow," Strallan answered casually. Edith had given up on the thrashing, realizing it would do no good, and so felt the vibration of his voice through her chest where she bounced against his shoulder blades.

It wasn't until they approached the side railing that Edith began to get truly nervous. "No, no, no," she squealed.

"Not to worry, the water's quite tepid," Anthony assured before unceremoniously tossing Edith overboard.

She had the wherewithal to hit point her feet and plug her nose before she hit the water, avoiding the ache of a flat impact. Captain Strallan was right; it was quite comfortable in temperature. It was the weight of her dress, the lack of movement in her underpinnings, and her complete inability to tread water that made the experience unpleasant for Edith.

Not to mention the large amount of sea water she swallowed while gasping for air when she momentarily broke the surface. "I can't, I can't" she sputtered before sinking below again.

Watching the great ship sink further from view in the night-darkened waters, Edith came to one conclusion: if she lived, she was going to kill him.

Just when she thought she might be done for, there was a disturbance in the water around her, and a rhythmic splashing, before two strong arms were about her waist, pulling her closer to the surface.

"Here," she heard above her own panting, choking breaths as she came out of the water and began breathing air again. "Stop flaying about." But she couldn't see for all the salt water in her eyes and her vision had gone a bit blurry. "It's alright, I've got you. Just be calm and hold on to me," the voice said again.

Reaching blindly around her, Edith found the shoulders of someone broad and apparently buoyant, and latched on for dear life as the bobbed just above water. She was so thrown, she didn't even care that fingers seemed to be working at the laces to her gown.

"It's alright, keep breathing," said the voice, soothing and quiet. Edith released one arm from his neck at a time at the urging of the hands, and felt the dress slip away from her body. The struggle to stay afloat eased, but she still latched herself desperately to the person holding her.

"Well," cooed the voice. "You're just a slip of a girl without that drapery holding you down aren't you?" The humor in the inflection was meant to be comforting, she knew, and it worked.

They were pulled back aboard by a looped rope under their arms, and it wasn't until she felt solid wood beneath her that Edith opened her eyes.

She was astonished by what she saw.

Captain Anthony Strallan was holding her, wearing nothing but his breeches and a soaked linen shirt, his strong hands splayed over her back as he peered down at her. She was lying in the crook of the arm he leaned his weight on as they sprawled on the deck, a puddle of sea water around them. Their faces were so close together Edith could feel his heaving breath on her face, and the water that dripped from his head fell onto her throat.

"You, you threw me overboard," she stammered, her hands still clutching to his neck, trembling though they were.

"You looked like you needed a swim," he replied. Their nearly-bare chests touched with each deep inhalation.

"You saved me," she said, more confused than annoyed.

"I needed a swim as well."

"I'm naked," she finally croaked, her throat growing thick from the coughing and the saltwater.

To this Strallan laughed quietly. "You're still wearing a corset, chemise, stockings and a wool waistcoat. You're at least three layers away from naked."

Edith looked around warily at the crowd of men who had gathered in the commotion. They were far from leering, looking more concerned or curious than anything, but she still felt a blush burn from her head to her heels. With nowhere else to turn, she buried her face against Captain Strallan's chest.

"I've had enough—" Edith said, hiccupping, "—enough bath, Captain Strallan."

Captain Strallan laughed again, and Edith thought he might have even kissed her forehead.

"Yes, Milday," he replied.

It was a bit of an effort to stand, all her remaining clothes still dripping and her legs wobbly. The Captain carried her to her chambers, followed by Dovey who carried a fresh cotton shift, a dressing robe, a thick towel, and a pitcher of fresh water. Dovey nodded once at Edith, still in the protection of Strallan's arms, before leaving quietly.

"I'm sorry, I forgot you wouldn't know how to swim," he muttered, releasing Edith. She shivered from the wet, and the distinct lack of his arms around her.

"Of course I don't know how to swim. I'm hardly allowed to look at the ocean, let alone traipse around in it," she explained.

"I'm sorry," he said again, handing Edith the towel. "I'll leave you. Get some rest." The captain looked almost sheepish, and Edith caught herself staring in fascination at the muscles showing beneath his clinging shirt.

"I can't," Edith griped, toweling her hair.

"You can't rest? I told you, no harm will—"

"I know what you said. It's not that I'm frightened," she snapped. Then, with a sigh of defeat she dropped her hands from her hair. "I can't undo the corset by myself and it's quite painful, actually. I can hardly sit, let alone lie down."

The Captain's eyes widened a fraction as he looked at Edith. Then, with something like relief, he said, "Oh," and before Edith could register what was happening, he took a small knife from the tray of fruit, spun Edith around, and sliced the laces of her corset through with one go.

Edith gasped as her ribs were set free and the offending article fell to the floor. "Oh, thank god," she said, too comfortable to be modest.

"What on earth is this?" Strallan asked, running a finger between her shoulder blades where her chemise didn't quite cover.

"Haven't you ever worn a corset?" she answered with a cheeky grin, looking over her shoulder at him. He was referring to the redlines the whalebone made in her flesh.

Anthony looked her in the eye for a moment, his expression almost pained, before he frowned, gathered up the corset, and made for the door. "You won't be needing this. We'll get you some more appropriate attire when we make port tomorrow. In the meantime, sleep."

Edith nodded, unsure whether to be grateful or spiteful. "Does rescuing someone count as a rescue if you're the one who threw them towards death in the first place she asked?"

"Don't exaggerate," was his reply. "And for god's sake, eat something before you get blown away in the next strong breeze," he instructed before shutting the door.

Edith dropped to the bed, trying to understand all that had happened over the last twenty-four hours. She got as far as the feeling of Captain Strallan's breath against her cheek and his muscular chest against hers before she fell into a well-earned sleep.

* * *

A/N: Such a lovely response to the first chapter! Thank you! I hope it lives up to expectations. :) This is going to be a long-ish story (lots to cover) but hopefully will be fun and exciting. Thanks for reading!

Next installment Edith ventures outside her room, and we get to know the crew a bit.


	3. Chapter 3

Edith was faintly aware of knocking at her door, and buried her face against her pillow in an effort to escape the flood of morning light. _Not now, Lily_, she thought, hating that her chambermaid was forever pushing her out of bed so early. What was the purpose of rising early, of hurrying to do nothing?

The knocking persisted, and Edith turned away from it. "Not now, Lily!" she said aloud. Her voice croaked and she sounded like one of Papa's business friends after a night of scotch and cigars. All at once it flooded back, and Edith knew why Lily didn't answer, and why her throat burned, and why her muscles felt heavy and sore.

"Pardon," Dovey managed, training his eyes to the floor as he entered. One great arm was balancing a tray of breakfast, the other was draped with several flimsy packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

"When do we dock?" Edith asked, struggling to sit up. She kept the thin bedding up to her neck to maintain her modesty.

Dovey looked at her as though he misunderstood and smiled shyly before leaving the things carefully on the writing table and ducking away.

Edith stood tentatively, testing her legs before putting her full weight on them. She had just dropped the blanket and was stretching her arms over her head when the Captain burst in.

"I'm not decent!" Edith yelped, scrambling for the blanket to cover herself again. In only a linen shift, she was quite certain the Captain got a fair eyeful of some things even Lily hadn't seen.

"I do apologize. I came to see how you are feeling," Strallan said, having the decency to look away as he handed Edith the discarded dressing gown.

"Fine," she said, tying the sash tightly around her waist and touching his arm so he knew she was somewhat covered. She still blushed, being in the presence of a man while wearing so little clothing.

"Fine? You sound as though you swallowed a sword last night."

"I might have," she replied.

"Tea will help, no lemon, use honey if you must." Then, as though he didn't trust her to do it properly, the Captain took the things from her hand and began preparing a cup of tea.

"When do we dock?" Edith asked.

Strallan looked at her sideways and laughed once. His expression was almost apologetic as he handed her the little china cup. "Roughly six hours ago."

Edith looked around at nothing in particular, straining her ears. "The boat's moving. We're already back at sea?"

"Next port is four days out. We found you some things to wear. Not as grand as you may be used to, but more practical."

Edith looked back to him with narrowed eyes. "You really think me a spoiled, useless thing, don't you?" She wasn't hostile, and her tone conveyed curiosity more than anything else.

The Captain sighed and looked at her with mild interest. "Am I mistaken?" he finally asked.

Edith chewed on that for a moment, pulling out the chair by the table and lowering herself with caution. Her muscles were stiff, her skin tight and dry, and her mind a bit beleaguered. "I haven't been allowed much opportunity for any sort of activity, I grant you," Edith said carefully. "But I am no weeping, fainting 'swooning' girl as you said."

"Well, I do apologize," Strallan said, half-mocking.

Edith opened her mouth to reply but changed her mind. She had given him enough fodder for now, and she had to keep reminding herself that he was the enemy. And an arrogant ass. And a pirate, of all things.

"Do you do that often?" he asked.

"What?"

"Wander down some errant train of thought before company. And rolling your eyes seems a habit as well."

"Anything else?" she asked defensively, thoroughly annoyed and more than a little outraged.

"Your robe has come undone," he added equably.

Edith looked down at herself, horrified to find her shoulder exposed save the thin strap of her shift and the robe gaping open at her breast. Strallan had been right, of course—she was still layers away from indecency, but she hadn't gone without so much clothing in her life.

Whether from her exposure or her realization that she was almost being silly, Edith wasn't sure, but she blushed profusely. She set her tea back on the tray with shaking hands, refusing to look back at the Captain. After a few moments he left abruptly, shutting the door behind him.

Stunned though she was by the Captain's behavior, Edith was also starving. The large tray of pastry and fruit Dovey had left was gone in an instant, and Edith felt a little thrill when she thought of her mother's disapproval at such unladylike haste.

Moving to her dresser, Edith found a fresh pitcher of water and a basin. Pulling the soap from the drawer she washed up, and only then did she have the courage to open the packages.

Practical indeed were the clothes they had found, but pretty. They were made of pale-colored cottons, delicate floral patterns in blues and blushes and browns. Three day dresses, a sleeveless cotton shift, and, much to her embarrassment, several pairs of simple pantaloons were all wrapped with care. No petticoats, no corset or underpinnings. The Captain had said they had been 'brought' but she rather wondered if he hadn't purchased them.

Though it wouldn't be unlike a pirate to steal or barter either.

Deciding she didn't care, Edith sighed in contentment as she slipped on the new things, feeling refreshed and free. The simple dress, buttoned across the front to the waist, was light and cool, and she couldn't believe she'd spent the last eight years wilting in silk and taffeta and petticoats and stockings.

"Mama would never approve," she muttered, assessing herself as best she could in the mirror on the wall. No hot-ironing to fight her hair's natural wave, no corset to push her small breasts up and together, Edith rather liked what she saw. She was slight, but not entirely lacking in curves, and her hair was loosely braided and left curling over her shoulder. She was barefoot and unbound, and it felt amazing.

Judging from the light through her little window, Edith gathered it was mid-afternoon. Feeling mildly brave and a bit stir-crazy, she slowly opened the door to her cabin.

The hallway was dark, lit only by the light of the open door at the end. Movement could be heard all around. Venturing further to the left would lead to more doors, all shut at the moment, and to the right the sounds of sea birds and men's shouting and the smell of fresh air all beckoned. It wasn't a difficult choice.

It was a veritable feast for such sheltered eyes as Edith's. Men of all ages were throwing ropes and hauling crates, some she recognized and some she didn't. The young man the Captain had called Barrow was standing with Dovey, examining the contents of some barrels. The others all seemed set to different tasks.

Looking around, Edith's gaze landed on the older gentlemen with the bushy eyebrows who had been so apologetic before. He was sat cross-legged against one of the many structures on the great ship, a pile of clothes before him. It was with a giggle of delight and amusement Edith realized he was sewing.

"May I?" she asked, wandering over to him.

The man look startled at first as he jumped at her voice. He quickly tried to rise but Edith waved him back down. "Milady, didn't expect to see you out here again anytime soon," he greeted.

"Well, I don't care what anyone 'expected', but I can't stay in that room another minute or I'll go mad," she sighed, dropping down beside him. He nodded stiffly, fumbling with a shirt he was trying to patch. After a moment, she offered, "My name is Edith, by the way."

"Yes, Milady," he said formally, causing her to giggle again. "And I am Carson."

"Carson." She tried his name, looking out at the milieu, and then turned back to him. "Is that a first name or a last?"

"It's Charlie Carson, but here I'm just Carson, Milady," he answered.

"Well, presumably I won't be leaving any time soon, so perhaps I can be 'just Edith' while I'm here, please?" she asked, longing to shake the image of fussy princess they all clearly had of her.

"I'm rather handy with a needle and thread," Edith offered after a while, already feeling better for the salt air brushing over her and the sunshine warming her skin.

Carson looked at her skeptically but dropped an armful of rags into her lap anyway. "Clothes," he pointed to one pile, "Scraps," he pointed to another, then pushing a needle, thread, and some rusted shears into her palm he said, "Patch what you can."

They worked in silence for a while, Carson conspicuously watching her technique.

"Do you do all the mending yourself?" Edith asked finally, finishing up on a pair of breeches that would hardly fit herself.

"We all have our tasks, Miss Edith. I happen to be handy with a needle. I'm also not as young as I once was."

"And how long have you been here? With the Captain I mean? Has he always been the Captain of this ship? How does one become a pirate?"

Carson laughed, a deep, guttural thing, and shook his head. "Full of questions, Miss?"

"Well, if I'm going to be your captive for an indeterminable length of time, I'd like to know who I'm living amongst."

"Very well," the man breathed, sounding quite exasperated. "This ship is the Lady Locksley. Captain Strallan acquired it many years ago, and most of these gentlemen he acquired as he went."

"And you? Did he 'acquire' you?"

"No, Miss. I was the Captain's butler, in another life. Now I'm part of his crew."

"Butler? So he had a home once? An estate even? What was he before he was a pirate?"

Carson frowned again. "What, exactly, do you believe it means to become a pirate, Miss?" He was very nearly laughing, and Edith realized how over-enthusiastic she must have sounded. "At any rate, Milady, I think most questions of that nature are best left to the Captain."

"Very well," she pouted. Carson leaned over to inspect a patch she'd done on a brown shirt. "Not likely to tear again," she said, holding the shirt up for him. He sniffed haughtily and went back to his own mending, and Edith could tell he was trying not to look impressed by her work.

"What of the crew?" she asked after several more minutes.

"A collection of strays and stragglers Sir Anthony has brought along," he said.

"_Sir_ Anthony?" Edith squeaked, but Carson's intense blush and pressed lips told her not to press the issue.

"That boy, there," Carson said, gesturing to a young man oiling a lever. He seemed about Edith's age, maybe a year or two younger, with a sweet face and floppy hair. She recognized him from her capture. "That's William Mason. Will. The Captain found him trying to join the navy underage after his parents died of fever."

Edith eyed the boy with curiosity. He looked sweet, if not a little sad.

"That man, Barrow," Carson continued. "He's what you might call our Requisitions Officer. He has the uncanny ability to talk his way in and out of anything you like, and he finds things. Anything."

"And what's his story? How did he get here?"

Carson shrugged. "He's quite popular with the young ladies," he began vaguely.

"Yes?"

"But it's the young gentlemen that interest him more."

Edith flushed. She'd heard of such men, of course, but never met one as far as she knew. "That still doesn't explain much."

"He was caught with the son of a landowner, sentenced to prison. He escaped and the Captain found him bargaining for passage out of Liverpool. Sir Strallan has an eye for talent, and put Barrow to work. We've had an abundance of supplies ever since. Anything from French rouge to Japanese silk—you need it, Mr. Barrow's your man."

"And no one minds the other bit?"

"We don't judge here, Miss."

"Unless you're a young lady from an aristocratic family," Edith grumbled.

Carson cocked his head. "See that boy there with the dark skin?"

Edith nodded. The boy couldn't have been more than twelve. He looked like a local but his skin was lighter, and he had a great white grin that split his face in two. She was immediately fond of the child.

"That boy is a castoff of your world. The product of a so-called English Gentleman and a servant girl from the village. The man that fathered him cast his mother aside, and she died not long after that young man was born."

"That's awful."

"Indeed. But you might understand why some aboard the Lady Locksley don't approve of the company you keep."

"I don't wish to be judged for my entire class. I no more asked to be born to an Earl than that child asked to be born illegitimately to a servant girl."

"Better to be an Earl's daughter, though, wouldn't you say?" Carson suggested gently.

Edith deflated. She was just as much the ignorant boar they believed her to be. And that was a greater blow than being abducted ever could have been.

"And you?" Edith finally asked, wishing to change the subject. "How did you learn to sew?"

"My late wife Elsie, god rest her soul, was quite the seamstress. I used to watch her sew at night before the fire. Makes me happy to think of her."

"If I lost a husband I loved, I shouldn't think I'd like to be reminded of him," Edith mused softly, wondering why anyone would choose to dwell on pain like that.

"That's only because you haven't got a husband. And, I'd venture to guess, you have never loved someone."

Edith dropped her work for a moment to study the man beside her. A shipful of lost boys and sad men. If someone had suggested such a thing to her three days ago she never would have believed them.

"What of Dovey?" she asked. "What's his story?"

"Dovey is from a country in the Far East. No one knows his story except the Captain. Dovey gets results from his stature, but the man once cried over a gull that caught in the sails and died. He is a true innocent, Miss. And he's fiercely loyal to the Captain. Hardly strays from his side for more than an hour at a time."

"You're none of you pirates," she declared. "Don't seem the pirating sort, do you?"

"Well, we're more pirates by default, Miss Edith—lack of anything more appropriate to call ourselves. We don't pillage or plunder, but we do get by, and by any means too."

"And you sail," Edith added with a grin.

"And we sail," he agreed nodding and returning her smile.

Looking around, Edith took a deep breath. "I think I should like to be a pirate too, then."

To this Carson laughed heartily. "You belong on a white-washed estate with manicured lawns and fine horse-drawn carriages, Miss. Don't forget that."

"I don't belong anywhere," Edith muttered quickly, squinting into the sun as the great ship turned toward it.

"Coming around!" came a shout, followed by a series of orders and "yup"s and "hey-oh!"s and Edith closed her eyes, listening to the Lady Locksley and her crew.

Perhaps she could get lost here, among the vagrants and orphans of the Lady Locksley, and their mysterious leader. If not here, than maybe among the exotic islands they traveled between, or perhaps she could find passage back to England.

Whatever she did, Edith was now certain of one thing absolutely: no matter what happened, she would have to be able to hold her own and that meant learning a thing or two.

"Mr. Carson?" Edith asked, causing one of his great eyebrows to arch slowly. "What must a young lady do to get some fencing lessons?"

* * *

A/N: Such lovely comments and support! Thank you! Edith is in for quite the adventure, I think. She may learn a great deal more than fencing as well, if the crew is willing to adopt her. :)

Thanks for reading and continuing to review! You're all dears.

Eleanor


	4. Chapter 4

Three weeks had never seemed so short to Lady Edith Crawley, nor so full and busy. It had started when she boldly asked that someone teach her swordplay. Most of the crew had scoffed at her request, or ignored her, or shied away from her. When her plea was finally greeted by more than a blank stare she knew she'd found her man.

Tom Branson was Irish, and affectionately considered head of the ship's 'security'. He was quick, friendly, and strong as an ox from working on loading docks from the time he was a 'wee lad.' Their lessons started immediately, and had gone just about every day since.

It was during the third day of lessons that Edith threw a fit, accusing Branson of holding back. "Well you can't well expect us to treat you like a peer when you lock yourself away all hours of the day and look down your nose at everyone," had been his altogether spot-on reply. And so Edith started taking her meals with the gentlemen in the rather large dining hall.

It was the fifth day of her time with the crew that Edith tripped over her skirt for the last time. Storming to the supply of clothes below deck, she took the smallest things she could find, and with a little help in altering from Mr. Carson, Edith fashioned herself some brown linen breeches and a few shirts. She even borrowed a pair of canvas shoes from Jonathan, the boy Carson had pointed out and the closest to her size on board.

Edith had barely seen hide nor hair of the Captain, and Dovey explained that he was a busy man who spent a great deal of time studying, and even more time off-ship, "conducting business," whatever that meant.

"So the captain isn't aboard?" Edith had asked over morning tea.

"No, Miss. We left him at the last port, and will pick him up when we dock in Antigua."

That was two days ago, they were due in Antigua the following morning, and Edith tried not to think too much on the strange, quiet Captain and his 'business' endeavors. She also chose not to dwell on her inexplicable feeling of loneliness at his absence.

Edith was absolutely covered in bruises, her hand plagued with large blisters, and she was sunburned to the point of misery. She had never been happier.

"Keep your weight balanced, Miss. Don't want your opponent knocking you off your feet, right?"

Edith nodded once, shook off her frustration, and reassumed her position.

"Elbow in," Branson said, circling around Edith as he examined her. "Wrist straight, knee over your foot." As he came around to face her again, he pushed her arm with the flat side of his own weapon. "Good, muscles are relaxed, back is straight. Very nice, Milady."

Edith fought the little grin of pride at his assessment, until he called her 'Milady.' Dropping everything in a huff she stomped her foot once and growled, "How many times to I have to ask you to call me Edith?"

Her little fit was interrupted by a heel behind her knee and Edith found herself in a crumpled heap, squinting into the sun, with Branson's blade at her throat.

"Never forget your opponent, _Milady_," he instructed with a small grin.

Edith frowned, filing that little rule away among the many others she'd been trying to keep at the ready. Branson offered her his hand to help her up, but soon found himself on his back beside her, Edith having used her position to get his feet from under him, and her own blade at his chest.

"_Edith_," she demanded, poking just slightly harder than necessary to get her point across.

The small crowd of men that had gathered to watch gave her an appreciative applause, and she tried not to appear overly pleased.

"Edith will never do," Barrow spoke up, emerging from the gathered men and puffing away at his cigarette. She'd never seen him without one.

"How do you mean?" she asked, wiping a trickle of unladylike perspiration from her brow.

"Well what kind of name is 'Edith' for a swordsman? Hmm?"

Edith's chest swelled with glee. For three weeks she had been trying to keep up with the boys, learning all they were willing to show her. She was just beginning to catch the basics of fencing, and Mr. Barrow had shown her last night how to 'shoot' rum, which had been a great source of entertainment for all the men as she coughed and wheezed.

After dinner most nights she would sit around, swapping stories with them (most of hers came from old fairytale books from her childhood nursery), before collapsing into her bed, sore and exhausted, for some well-earned rest.

Embarrassed as she would be to admit it, Edith was thrilled at the prospect of even being tolerated by the crew of boys and miscreants, let alone accepted by them. That they were her captors had long since been forgotten. Now she thought of them as the closest things she might ever have to friends.

And if anyone needed to worry about the viciousness of their acquaintances, it was young ladies in British high society. These boys, compared to the young women Edith had been exposed to at balls, were dear as lambs.

"And what would you suggest, Barrow?" Branson asked with a laugh, taking a pull from his nearby water jug.

"I suggest we rechristen her, of course."

Edith lit up. "You mean like a pirate name? A real one?" she squealed in delight.

Barrow smirked at her. "Perhaps."

"What, like Red-Eyed-Jack, or Scrappy Bill, something ridiculous like that?" Carson asked with disdain from his nearby spot, peeling potatoes with Will.

"I think we can do better than that, certainly," Barrow said smugly.

"Greatest pirate of the last century was an Irishman by the name of Grainne O'Malley," Branson suggested with pride. "What do you think, O'Malley?" he teased, swatting the back of Edith's legs with the blunt side of his steel.

"There was Calles and Hawkins too," Will suggested.

"No, no, none of those are right," Barrow shot down. He scratched his thumb over his chin in thought while Edith waited in eager anticipation.

Dovey, who was quietly whiddling on a carved pipe a small distance away spoke suddenly, causing the hum of suggestions to die quickly. "She is Aditi. Aga Aditi." His accent, thick in the 'th' sounds and round in the vowels, made the name sound quite lovely, and Edith was as touched as she was shocked that he spoke for her.

"What's it mean, Dove?" Barrow asked. No one dared argue with Dovey's decisions on the rare occasion he made them.

"Aditi is 'boundless'," Dovey said softly. "Like her spirit. Aga," and then a tiny, sheepish smile curled one side of his mouth, "Aga is 'sword'. She is strong like steel and sharp like the blade."

"Aga Aditi... Sounds like a real scoundrel to me," Branson nodded.

"All in favor?" Barrow asked, sweeping his steely eyes to the crew. Those that were gathered gave an enthusiastic grunt of approval, and Edith was thus branded.

"And so was born Aga Aditi, the most feared of all she-buccaneers in the land," Barrow muttered to Edith, patting her warmly on the head.

That night, Edith had celebrated her new identity a bit too enthusiastically, and stumbled to bed early, not even bothering to get between the sheets before she passed out.

"Aga?" came Dovey's gentle voice, prodding her awake. Edith tried to open her eyes, but the world seemed too bright this morning to accomplish the task.

"Oh dear, Mr. Dovey. It seems I overindulged last night," she muttered, barely managing to roll to her back.

"Eat," he said, "When we dock I take you off ship. Land beneath your feet will help."

Edith sat up, looking rather shocked. "I get to go ashore?" She had been kept aboard each time they made port, the only reminder that her freedoms were limited and she was indeed a prisoner.

"Captain says," he answered. "I will keep watch."

"You're to be my nanny, is that it?" she asked with an annoyed laugh.

"You are trouble, Aga, but you know that," he replied with a fond smile before leaving her to her breakfast.

Edith felt quite unwell, and she filed this in her list of lessons too—never try to out-drink a Persian the size of a cottage. But the prospect of seeing something beyond this great ship was worth fighting the queasiness that gripped her.

As she prepared her washing basin, Edith caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and did a double-take. Hair once nearly red was lightened by the sun, streaking blonde around her face and brow where it fell loose from her haphazard braid. Her skin, once pure and fair as porcelain now proudly sported a spray of freckles over her nose and cheek bones, and was dry and colored from days spent outside. She had innumerable little scratches from her lessons with Branson, and her once soft feet and hands were calloused and strong.

Edith had never felt further from the proper Lady she'd been raised to be, and the life of following after her sisters as the plain, middle child, the forgotten one, seemed very far away. She was happy, happier than she'd ever hoped to expect, and far happier than any captive had any right to be. Perhaps she had lost her mind, stuck at sea for a month after being kidnapped.

Edith laughed to herself as she wondered what her reaction would have been to a life of imprisonment in marriage to Michael Gregson. Would she have fared as well, adapted so willingly, to being his little bit of arm décor at parties? Examining the bruises on her body as she peeled off her minimal clothing, Edith doubted it very much.

"Why has the captain suddenly changed his mind about my going ashore?" Edith asked Dovey an hour later, as he wrestled her hair into a leather cap.

"No enemies on Antigua to search for you," he answered.

"Then why must I disguise myself as a lad from the crew to go to town?"

Dovey smiled. "Not much disguise."

"My mother would be horrified," Edith laughed.

"You miss her, Aga Aditi?" Dovey asked, his massive hands cupping Edith's head as though she were a puppy that needed comfort. For a huge, scarred, dark man with a gold hoop in one ear and eyes made shadowy with charcoal, Dovey made one excellent guardian.

Edith frowned, trying desperately to decide whether or not she missed her mother. There was a certain comfort, surely, in the familiarity of home. Her mother had been good and caring, but her affection was usually displayed in soft criticisms and quiet encouragements to better oneself.

If she were there now, Edith would be rushing around, being 'dutiful' and 'helpful'(as opposed to 'lovely' or 'charming' like her sisters) as the entire household prepared for Mary's wedding. The family was supposed to travel to London for the affair, and Edith wondered if they would be more upset at her abduction or at having to postpone the wedding.

"I should, Mr. Dovey, but no, I don't miss my mother."

Dovey's reaction to her statement was little more than mild contemplation for a brief second before his great paws lifted her from her perch on the railing to set her on her feet.

"Come, Aga, we go to market and let you explore. Captain wishes it," he commanded.

The village market was like nothing Edith had ever seen. People shouted over each other to haggle for goods, the smell of fresh nutmeg and cloves and annatto blending with smoked meats and fresh fish and leather goods. It was an assault on all the senses, overwhelming and chaotic, and wonderful. Edith worked hard to contain herself so she wouldn't stand out.

"Will Captain Strallan be sailing with us again after this?" Edith asked casually, fingering some hand-woven rugs.

"Yes Aga."

"Where was he the last three weeks?"

"Busy, Aga."

Edith wandered to a man selling polished stones strung onto leather. "Did he take the boy, Jonathan, with him?"

"Yes, Aga. Jonathan is always with Captain."

"Is Jonathan Captain Strallan's son?"

"No, Aga. But Captain takes good care of the boy. Teaches him letters and numbers."

"Why is he so fond of the boy? I mean what attachment does he have to him?"

"I cannot say, Aga."

"You mean you don't know, or you can't say?"

Dovey looked sideways at Edith but didn't answer.

"What's the Captain's story? Carson said he used to be Sir Anthony, what was his title? Has it been stripped from him? How long ago did he leave England? Did he grow up there? And why does he hide from it now?"

"It is the Captain's story, Aga, if you should want to know it you must ask him."

Edith was chewing that over when she saw a woman selling creams and lotions a few booths down. "Oh! I would give almost anything for something to soothe my skin," she squealed, earning a few turned heads. Edith frowned in confusion at the queer looks until Dovey smacked her lightly atop her head and she remembered she was supposed to be a boy.

"Sorry," she muttered, blushing madly and hurrying off in another direction. Dovey followed after her, and to show he wasn't really worried he bought her some smoked chicken on a stick. They ate largely in silence, as Dovey rebuffed any questions Edith had about his own past.

By the time they returned to the ship, the rest of the men were loading supplies and getting things in order.

"Anything interesting in your loot?" Edith asked Barrow, an eyebrow raised.

"Found this interesting little number, care to try it on?" he teased, pulling some sort of dress, if one could call it that, made of gold medallions and sheer fabric.

Edith blushed despite herself and hit him solidly on the arm. "I'll no more wear that than you will."

"Very well," Barrow sighed, pretending to be disappointed. "How about this? Perfect for Aga Aditi, no?"

From one of the trunks, Thomas pulled a long felt bag, and from the bag he pulled a narrow, petite little sword. It was sheathed in a leather sling with a vine pattern burned into it, and a matching pattern was etched into the gold hilt. It was far sleeker and lighter than the great heavy blade Edith had been practicing with, and she smiled as she balanced it perfectly on one finger.

"This is mine?" she murmured, in awe of the pretty little weapon, swinging it around.

"Much more suitable to Aga Aditi, no?" he answered. "Careful, it's sharper than it looks."

No sooner had Barrow spoken the words than Edith fumbled the sword, still unused to its lack of weight, and it sliced through her right calf as easily as a knife through melon.

"Oh," Edith said dully, secretly proud of the new scar she would surely be sporting. "I'll go to my quarters and clean this up. Thank you Mr. Barrow," she said with a fond smile, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Pirates don't kiss each other," Barrow whispered with a smirk. Edith was truly terrified she'd given something away, and looked around the bustling dock to see if anyone noticed until Thomas smacked her on the backside. "In you go, Aga. Take care of that wound, and that sword. A man's only as good as his weapon."

Edith was practically bouncing with joy as she made her way to her room. She had just taken a cloth and filled her washing basin when her door flew open.

"What are earth do you think you're doing?" Strallan demanded, his voice as close to being raised as Edith imagined it could get.

"Dressing my wounds," she murmured without looking at him, trying desperately to look anything but thrilled at his sudden reappearance. She had one foot precariously propped on the writing desk in her room while she bent at a strange angle to examine a minor gash on the back of her calf.

"I don't—I don't mean in this moment," he said. His stuttering caught Edith's attention and she looked over at him to see what the fuss was. "What are you wearing?" he asked, gesturing helplessly as if she were the queerest thing he'd ever seen.

"Clothes," she answered dully, standing to her full height and straightening her top.

"Whose clothes? What happened to the dresses we gave you?"

"My clothes, I think, seeing as I'm wearing them. Look, if I'm going to learn fencing and sailing and all that, I can't very well wear dresses, can I?" she asked, fists firmly on hips.

Her breeches were somewhat loose at the waist and were held up with a bit of thin rope. Her shirt was too big, but not so much so that it gaped anywhere, and beneath it all she was still wearing her pantaloons and the top half of her linen shift, which Carson had kindly altered for her.

Anthony looked quite stricken for a moment as his eyes wandered over her, and for the first time in her life Edith thought she might have an idea of what Mary felt when men ogled her. Though she was certain the Captain was eyeing her with disdain and little else.

Edith just waited for his gaze to return to her face, and when it did she was the one left speechless. His eyes were so very, very blue, and now glazed with something foreign to her, something that made her knees go wobbly and her blood to hum in her veins.

"Yes," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper and it didn't do a thing to cut through the strange tension between them. "Yes, that's what I wanted to speak with you about."

"My breeches?"

"No. Fencing."

"What about it?"

Anthony seemed to return to himself a bit. "Why do you have my men teaching you to use a sword? And box, from what I've been told."

"Yes. And knot tying, picking locks, and the fine art of eating raw oysters. And Mr. Barrow has taken it upon himself to teach me the nuances of drinking rum by the shot." She listed each new skill with pride and arched a challenging brow at the Captain.

"What in god's name do you think you're doing?" he asked, utterly exasperated.

"How do you mean?"

"I'll not allow my men to teach our captive to fight back."

"Your 'captive' is bored and unless you're willing to find something else useful for me to do, then you'll just have to live with it. Anyway, what do you think I'm going to do? Take down a ship of twenty men all by my lonesome?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to try," he snapped, now matching her obstinate posture.

"Well I won't. And I can't sit around here and rot. I mean you haven't even any books on this bloody ship."

"The 'bloody' ship? Been taking language lessons from the boys as well?" Strallan interrupted, spurring Edith to take a step toward him. Her eyes barely came to his chest but it didn't stop her from standing to her full height and squaring off with him.

"I'll take any lessons I please!"

"Books? Will books keep you occupied and out of danger?" he huffed, pulling on Edith's wrist and tugging her down the hall. _Danger?_ she thought. He was worried about her being in danger? And not that she was learning to fight?

"Where are you taking me?" she huffed, though she didn't pull against him. Anthony's hand had found its way from her wrist to her palm, and she tried not to notice.

"You wanted books."

"Yes, well, I also wanted a bath once and that didn't turn out very well," she said sarcastically.

Anthony pulled Edith across the deck toward his rooms. She'd never been in there before, and she had imagined it would be grand and opulent.

She had been wrong. Mostly office, there were tables of maps and walls of journals and accounts. A great chair sat in the corner surrounded by papers and books, and on the far wall, shelves stood seven feet high lined, every inch, with books.

"There you are, books!" he huffed, gesturing to the shelves. "These are all fiction in this section. The rest are history, philosophy, and these here are science and sailing, etcetera. Take your pick. Now you can stay entertained in here instead of out there with steel and nets and knives, yes?"

He sounded angry, petulant even, but he was offering Edith his library and asking her to stay safe in one breath.

Pirate indeed.

"You'd, you'd let me read these?" she asked.

Anthony visibly softened. "Yes, if you find something that interests you."

"You mean, if my 'feeble, high-bred mind' can handle them?" she clarified, a cheeky grin slowly drawing across her face as she quoted him directly.

Only then did they realize Anthony still had her hand in his. They both looked down at the joined fingers and stared for a moment before he abruptly released her.

An awkward silence ensued until Anthony leaned back at a strange angle and looked down. For a brief moment Edith thought he might be examining her... assets. Then she remembered her gash.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No. I just don't want it to fester."

"No, mustn't allow that," he agreed. Urging Edith to sit, he disappeared through a side door for a moment before returning to her side with a cloth and a brown glass bottle. "This will sting, but we've found it helps to prevent infection."

"Rum? Is that for me or the wound?"

"Both," Anthony said with a laugh, pouring some on the cloth and pressing it against Edith's calf. She hissed loudly at the contact, but almost immediately the sting faded into a dull tingling.

"Thank you," she managed, perseverating on the feel of his warm hand around her bare leg, and the new view of him knelt before her, and of his total proximity to her whole being.

And then Anthony Strallan, Pirate Captain, cradled Edith's ankle in his hand, drew her leg up to his mouth, and blew. He blew on her little wound, as if he might make it better by magic.

"Where," she began, faltered at the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat and tried again, "Where have you been?"

"I had some things to attend to in St. John," he answered. His hands left Edith's leg, placing her foot against his thigh. She mourned the loss for a moment until he took her other leg too, and began examining her for other injuries.

"Are you always so cryptic?" she asked.

"Not necessarily," he muttered, running a thumb over a bruise on her left ankle. "Does that hurt?"

"No, it's fine."

After a few moments, the Captain set her feet back on the floor with a sigh. When he looked up at her, Edith was startled by the change in him. A bit of that stern façade he worked at was gone, and she found she quite liked the kind, crooked smile that rested on his rather handsome face.

"Thank you, Captain," she muttered.

"It's no matter," he assured. Then, after a moment's hesitation he added, "And you might call me Anthony."

* * *

A/N: Sorry I'm so long in updating! I was sort of off the grid the last few weeks. Sorry, too, that this chapter is so long! Hope it's not too much. :)

Thanks for continuing to read and review! I love all the follows, faves, and comments. They make my day!


	5. Chapter 5

Edith Crawley did not know Anthony Strallan, not really. Not in the way she knew Carson and Branson and Dovey. (Well, she knew next to nothing about Dovey like everyone else, but she knew he was sweet and honorable.) But Anthony Strallan remained a mystery, and quite a confounding one at that.

He had occupied the majority of Edith's thoughts ever since that first frustrating night on board, and inexplicably so. Rather than dwell, Edith had chosen to ignore the nagging presence of the Captain in her every conscious moment. However, with him back on the ship and the two of them surreptitiously observing each other day in and day out, Edith found herself quite agitated.

"Do you need something?" Edith finally huffed after four full days of awkward, clipped conversations and evasive eye contact. She was half-hiding in one of the schooners tied to the side of the hull, bare feet propped on the side and backside nestled in a bed of netting, half-way through one of the novels she'd borrowed from the Captain's library.

He had been pacing past her for the last several minutes, occasionally stopping as if he was going to speak before continuing on. She could only ignore him for so long…

"I, well yes," he huffed. Edith peered over the pages of The Iliad to meet his eyes and tried to fight the flush in her cheeks when she did. "I was wondering… how you're getting on."

The way he closed his eyes and exhaled sharply after he spoke told Edith that wasn't his real question.

"Quite well, all considered. The boys have cut back significantly on their time spent with me, which curiously coincides with your recent return," she accused without subtlety, "So I've been keeping busy with Achilles and his rather dramatic mother."

"The crafting of the shield is my favorite part," Anthony muttered, seemingly glad for a direction of their conversation, and Edith wondered if he wasn't trying to assuage her obvious pouting.

She offered him a complacent smile and sat up, closing the leather-bound tome over her finger to save her place. "Mine too."

"You've gotten that far already?" he asked in surprise.

"I'll try not to be offended by your continuing doubt of my intelligence, Captain," she bristled lightly. "But no, I'm currently on book eleven. I've just read this before."

"I truly meant no offense," he said softly, "And I told you to call me Anthony."

Edith nodded once, and waited, watching with a certain wary interest as Anthony clearly debated his next move. Running a thumb over his chin for a moment, he finally made a decision, heaving himself into the schooner by the ropes that held it up in one fluid motion. Edith scrambled back a bit to make room for him as he sat opposite her in the belly of the little rowboat.

"I like the making of the shield because it perfectly elucidates the juxtaposition of war and peace, of violence and tranquility, ugliness and serenity," he explained, eyeing the book in favor of meeting Edith's gaze.

"You're not a violent man, Anthony. None of you are," she mused. "Is it possible you've chosen the wrong business?"

"And what is it you think my business is?" he asked, though the defensive tone Edith had come to expect was gone.

"I've absolutely no idea. Kidnapping random young women, I suppose, turning them into roguish sailors?" she teased, grinning wryly.

Anthony smiled back, really smiled, and Edith's heart reacted quite strangely to the image. "Your…joining us, Lady Edith, was no random act I assure you."

"So you do have a plan with me," she nodded, more of a statement confirming her own suspicions than a question. "And what does that entail? Why me?"

"No proper villain reveals his plans to the heroine, Lady Edith. Not without losing his head," he chuckled.

"Oh, so I'm the heroine, am I?" she asked, raising a fond eyebrow.

"Most definitely."

"Well, if I'm the heroine, and I'm to address you as Anthony, won't you please call me Edith?"

"You wouldn't prefer Aga Aditi?" he countered, and Edith was surprised he knew about her little pet name. "Interesting moniker my men gave you."

"It was a sweet gesture, but I think I would prefer for you to call me by my Christian name."

"Very well," Anthony conceded with a bow of his head.

"Now, as for this plan I am some component of," Edith hedged, waiting for him to continue.

Anthony hesitated for a moment before saying, "I'm not terribly fond of your intended, and you will be returned to him when, and only when, I've completed my revenge."

"Revenge?" Edith shrilled with a bit too much enthusiasm. "I'm part of a grand revenge scheme? Oh, do tell. Will you wait until he's on his knees and then do your worst?"

"In a manner of speaking," Anthony said vaguely, picking up a length of the netting and toying with the knots.

"Are you going to kill me?" She asked this bluntly, hoping he understood that the prospect held little fear for her.

"Good god! No!" he sputtered, throwing the netting back between them in irritation.

"I only ask, because," she paused, considering her own rationale. "Well for two reasons, really. The first is that Gregson is not so fond of me as you may give him credit for. His interest in my return will lie solely in his bruised ego. If you're expecting him to beg for my life you'll be disappointed."

"Then he is a fool," Anthony muttered quickly. "What is your second reason?"

"I was born with a life sentence of tedium and servitude, first in duty to my family and later in duty to my husband. I never in all my life dreamed of an adventure like this, and if you must kill me at the end of it, it's just as well because I wouldn't have lived otherwise—not really, anyway."

If Anthony was appalled by Edith's little speech he didn't show it. Rather, he looked quite stony and pale, and Edith shrugged, waiting for his response. After several long moments it finally came, so quietly she barely heard it over the sea crashing against the hull and the wind rushing between them.

"You're more valuable alive," was the extent of his ambiguous reply.

_Such a strange, sad man_, Edith thought, but more strange was the sense of comfort and security she felt in his presence, or her almost undeniable need to know him better.

"What of the boy?" she blurted, grasping for any bit of information about the Captain.

"The boy?"

"Jonathan. Mr. Carson said his father is an Englishman?"

"Yes," Anthony said curtly, some of his defensiveness returning, though Edith realized it was on the boy's behalf.

"I'm just…curious, Anthony. I don't mean any harm."

"Just consider him my ward."

"Fine," Edith grumbled, tossing the great book aside and folding her arms across her chest. She only looked back at Anthony after an audible sigh.

"Would you like to meet him? Properly, I mean."

"Yes, I would."

"Today we dock in a little township fondly known as Ciano Cay. Dovey will take you to an inn when we get there where you are to stay in your rooms. You'll not venture out, if you please," and all at once Anthony's authoritative tone was lost.

"Why?"

"Aren't you a bit sick of the ship and your little quarters?"

"Yes, I suppose, I just—why now? And what will the others being up to? Why take Jonathan and I off the ship now?"

"Because I wish it," Anthony said, effectively ending the line of questioning. "You can dine with us this evening. Jonathan and I, I mean. If you will."

"You, you eat with the boy?"

"Yes."

"Always?"

"The lad's been deprived of a normal and stable childhood, I like to create consistency where I can."

His answer touched Edith, though she couldn't say why for sure. For one disturbing moment, Edith had the urge to nudge the Captain affectionately with her foot where it lay beside his outstretched leg, but she resisted.

"If I eat dinner with you, will you answer some of my questions?"

"Depends on what you ask."

"Fair enough," she replied. "What time do we dine?"

"Seven. And dress for dinner. We're pirates, not savages," Anthony teased. By 'dress' Edith assumed he meant she wear women's clothing. A simple, albeit funny, request from a gentleman.

"Seven," she said, standing and heaving herself over the edge of the schooner to pack her few things.

She was just bathing, Edith decided. Just bathing, and combing her hair—normal things that any woman, any person would do. She justified and rationalized every stroke of the silver-backed brush that had mysteriously appeared among her things one day, every extra bit of attention she gave so her hair would form into its natural ringlets instead of letting the sea air blow them into a frizzy mess.

When she took special care with the verbena soap so the smell would linger on her skin, Edith knew for fact it wasn't in hope of someone catching the scent because the proximity that would allow such a thing would be inappropriate. When she buffed the callouses from her hands and filed her nails until they were clean and even, she decided it was because it would be more comfortable for herself.

None of her lengthy and laborious grooming had anything, anything at all, to do with her new dinner companions. And even if it did, it was Jonathan she didn't wish to shock. No, Edith assured herself that all her care was due solely to the fact that this was her first bath in months that hadn't been in a tiny copper tub in her quarters, half-filled with tepid water.

It was more difficult to justify the splash of rosewater she put on her pulse points, so she chose to simply banish any further thought on the subject. Edith fidgeted in the gown she had chosen for a few moments, unused anymore to the feeling of a tight, laced bodice and the billowing fabric of a full skirt.

A rap on the door of her quaint but spacious room at the inn captured her attention, and with one more glance in her mirror, she deemed herself as cleaned-up as was possible with her limited beginnings.

"Aga? Captain says it is time for supper," came Dovey's voice, prodding her to hurry up. Only then did she notice the amber light coming slant-ways through the windows, which seemed huge in contrast with her little porthole. She must have been toiling away in her room for two hours now, having been escorted to the inn sometime in the late afternoon.

"Did he send you to fetch me?" Edith asked indignantly as she opened the door, acting as though she'd been waiting idly the whole time. "Surely you have better things to do with your time, Dove."

"I might say the same to you, Aga," he teased, and Edith was delighted by his rare show of humor. As they stepped from her unlit room into the well-lit hall, however, he paused his steps and said, "Ah, but I see it has not been time wasted." Then Dovey's great square paw reached up and patted Edith's cheek paternally.

"You're just unused to all things feminine," Edith grumbled, blushing. Her own father had never looked at her with the sweet, domestic pride the mysterious great Persian just had.

"No, Aga Aditi, Boundless Soul, Little Sword, you are mistaken. Now, go. Eat."

Edith was shown downstairs to a small, private dining room. Dovey bid her goodnight, before leaving the inn altogether, leaving Edith to enter on her own. Doing so, she startled Anthony from some train of thought as he turned from the window to greet her.

Edith, still out of sorts from Dovey's affection, couldn't think of anything clever or pert to say when she saw Anthony's mouth fall open slightly and his eyes wander her briefly. "Hello," he achieved after an audible gulp.

"Hello," she replied. The dining room had large windows facing west, and she felt the sunset illuminating herself while it cast Anthony in shadow. Even then, she saw the blue of his eyes and the strange new flush in his skin. Unable to take his strange stare any longer, she took in minor details of her surroundings.

The small dining table was set traditionally, with linens and plates and chargers, full flatware, white and red stemware, and candles lined down the center. On the wall opposite the windows a small fireplace offered more light than warmth, and two overstuffed chairs were arranged at the hearth.

"Jonathan is reading with Mr. Branson. He'll join us shortly."

Neither party made to move, save Edith's tight nod.

After what seemed an eternity to Edith but was likely thirty seconds, Anthony practically jumped from his thoughts, shaking his head once and then trying to mask the gesture by looking around. "Is your room adequate?"

"Lovely, thank you. Yours?"

He seemed surprised by her inquiry. "Of course. Perfectly…adequate."

And to her horror, Edith realized she was abruptly quite interested in his more private moments. She had a sudden burning desire to know how he liked his tea, what soap he used, whether he slept on his back or his stomach. Perhaps he slept on his side, frowning slightly from sleep, lips parted with soft, soundless breath, head propped on one arm while the other held someone tight against him.

"Edith?"

"Hmm?" she startled, realizing he had been speaking to her.

"I asked if you'd like some wine." He gestured limply to the buffet in the corner that held several carafes of various content.

"I—thank you, yes. Wine—yes, please." Her words were stilted as though they were speaking in a foreign language.

He poured, she accepted, and they were silent again.

"You used to be Sir," Edith blurted suddenly, immediately coloring at her lacking segue.

"I used to be a great many things," Anthony replied, not needing more from her to know what she was referring to. "But yes, Sir. I suppose I still am."

"Go on," Edith prompted, taking one of the fireside chairs.

"Not much to tell, really. I'm a baronet. Or I was in another life," he answered, his voice somewhat distant, as he took the seat opposite her.

"We only get one life, Sir Anthony, however much it may change."

"And what do you know about the trials of life, young one?"

His tone was almost playful, and Edith tried not to take offense to the patronization. "Not much," she ceded, sipping at the musky red wine. Changing the subject, she said, "I seem to have acquired many epithets since my arrival."

"Oh?" Anthony asked, sounding lost and relieved in equal measure.

"Edith Crawley, Captive of the Lady Locksley, Aga Aditi, Boundless Soul, Little Sword, Young One," she listed. She was smiling at her feet to mask the inexplicable sadness that had somehow settled over her.

"Like a character in _The Iliad_, rather."

Edith risked a glance up at him, and Anthony seemed to be solving a riddle of some sort. He looked at her, but didn't see her. It was more like he saw through her. _Inside_ her. She shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked quickly, the quizzical expression gone all at once.

"No, no, I'm fine," she whispered, her mouth having gone quite dry.

"Edith, if I hadn't," Anthony began, but was interrupted.

"Have you ever been to see the giant, Anthony?" came Jonathan's clear, youthful voice as he burst into the room. "The one in Ireland that lays in the sea?"

Anthony dropped his head, but couldn't help but grin affectionately. There was a new warmth in his voice when he answered that reminded Edith of Dovey's tone whenever he addressed her directly.

"Yes, my boy. Has Branson been telling you Celtic stories again?"

"No, I've been reading them," Jonathan said, coming around to fearlessly drag a chair between Anthony and Edith. The boy had barely acknowledged her presence, but didn't ignore her, as if she were an everyday fixture in his little life.

She watched the boy with a fond interest. He had beautiful, flawless skin the shade of milky tea and great hazel eyes that seemed vaguely familiar. His hair was kept short, but could clearly become a mop of fine, loose curls a shade or two lighter than she would have guessed.

"Jonathan, please greet our guest," Anthony reminded gently.

"Oh, sorry. Good evening, Lady Edith," the lad said, and Edith's heart just about melted into her ribs.

She was beaming like an idiot, she knew, when she dipped her head in a sort of sitting-curtsey and said, "Hello, young man. Thank you for having me."

There was a certain stiffness in the formal salutations that seemed ill-fitting and Edith was unsure how to break it. She needn't have worried though. Jonathan frowned a little in an expression too Anthony to be missed and said dryly, "Thank you for wearing a dress."

Edith gaped. Jonathan shrugged. Anthony smacked him on the back of the head. Then all three were in a fit of easy laughter.

The rest of the evening passed quickly as she and the boy traded stories and funny questions too personal to be proper, which in turn had Anthony quite flustered. Edith enjoyed herself far may than she could have imagined a simple meal of swordfish and boiled potatoes would allow.

Edith learned that Jonathan remembered little before his life with Anthony, who taught him reading, arithmetic, and the basics of natural sciences. "We've begun philosophy now," Jonathan had said with pride. He followed Anthony nearly everywhere, but longed to go to a real school as Anthony had done.

Jonathan also let slip that Anthony was particularly fond of Donne, and Edith savored that tiny, intimate detail, filing it away to be guarded jealously . Anthony was largely silent, through dinner and pudding, and after as they settled near the fire again, Jonathan on the floor between the two of them.

When Edith asked Jonathan how old he was he replied, "Twelve. How old are you?" And while Anthony expressed horror at the boy's forgotten manners, Edith simply smiled in genuine mirth and answered, "Twenty."

Jonathan frowned and said, "You're only eight years older than me. Anthony is forty-six. He could be your father."

"No he couldn't," Edith denied lightly, trying to mask her discomfort at the assessment.

"Why not?"

"Because I've already got a father and he's fifty."

"Alright, young man, time for sleep," Anthony interjected, finally finding a voice and nipping the subject short.

After a blushing kiss on Edith's cheek, Jonathan left for his room.

"He's absolutely wonderful," Edith said without hesitation.

"That child says something new every day that surprises me. He's exceptionally bright. And indefatigably curious. Can't fill his mind fast enough. I've never seen someone so hungry for knowledge."

"You're very good to him."

Anthony shrugged. "He would have been lost on the streets, an urchin without a chance. It didn't take much to give him food and teach him letters."

"You've done much more than that."

"I believe you had questions," Anthony said after clearing his throat, dismissive of Edith's praise.

"How did you find Jonathan?"

"Stumbled across him when he was three, he's been with us ever since."

"That's the sorriest answer to a question I think I've ever received," she scolded softly. When Anthony's jaw set and Edith realized that was all she'd get she moved on. "How did you go from being a baronet in England to a pirate?"

"That story is much too long and involved for this late hour."

"You promised me answers," Edith demanded, pulling her chair closer to Anthony's where they sat by the fire, fairly pinning him in place.

"Depending on the question," he qualified.

"Why must you be so secretive?"

"Why must you know everything?"

"Do you have some tragic, meandering past?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Is it only with me that you're so vague, or do you keep everyone at an arm's length?"

"Am I being vague?"

"You are and you know it!" Edith shrieked, laughing in utter, frustrated bewilderment.

Anthony laughed too, and only then did Edith realize she'd been inching closer during their little war of wits. She had one hand on either arm of his chair, her face level with his in challenge as she leaned close.

Swallowing thickly, Edith said, "One of these days I'm going to find a way in. I'm going to get you to reveal all your guarded secrets, and I'd wager that I'll get you to enjoy it too."

The wine, Edith figured, was the cause of her heated flesh and brash remarks. She could feel warmth pulsing from her skin, and she knew her cheeks were bright red. It didn't help when Anthony spoke and she could feel his breath against her lips.

"I'd be curious to see how you mean to accomplish that."

A chill ran down Edith's spine and she snapped up, backing away from the Captain and his great blue eyes as if the chair had burned her hands.

"I think it's time I turned in as well," she stammered, feeling jittery and dazed at once. "Had a bit too much to drink, I think."

"A great buccaneer such as yourself, drunk after a few glasses of table wine? Surely not," Anthony teased gently.

When he stood to escort her to the door, Edith was stunned anew by his height and breadth. Such an imposing, serious man should be intimidating, but Anthony was so pensive, so soft-spoken she could never imagine being afraid of him.

Why, then, her heart should start frantically against her breastbone was beyond Edith. She placed a hand against her sternum as if to hold herself together as Anthony gestured to the opened door for her. Apparently he meant to escort her all the way to her room.

"What, what is planned tomorrow?" was her stammered attempt at light conversation.

"We'll return to the ship in the late morning, after the men have restocked and cleaned up."

She nodded numbly, having no real opinion on the matter.

Reaching her room, Edith stepped inside the doorframe and turned back to the Captain. He had both his hands tucked behind his back, his eyes glued to the rug. "Thank you, for dinner. And the room. It's a lovely change."

"Have breakfast with me," he said swiftly, barely letting Edith finish her sentence. Then looking up he amended, "With Jonathan and me. If you wish."

"Of course," she agreed without hesitation. Rocking on her toes, she felt the urge to reach out and touch him, but avoided it, folding her hands together instead.

Anthony's mouth opened, as if to speak, then shut. Edith waited for him to say something more, feeling increasingly awkward by the minute, until he finally sighed. With a diffident smile, he backed away. "Goodnight, Edith Crawley, Captive of the Lady Locksley, Aga Aditi, Boundless Soul, Little Sword, Young One."

Edith readied for bed in a trance, not bothering to wash her face or braid her hair after removing the pins. She didn't even bother climbing under the quilt.

Edith Crawley did not know Anthony Strallan, not really. Except that he had the capacity to be superbly kind, he did not salt his potatoes, he had a weakness for Donne, and that she was probably in love with him. For tonight, that was enough.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for continuing to read! Oh my, your reviews have been so lovely. The moment I have to actually sit on a real computer and respond to each one, I absolutely will. I apologize for not doing so sooner. They really are very much appreciated.

Another long chapter, I know. I'm afraid this might be the new pattern. Bear with me. :)

Always,  
Eleanor


	6. Chapter 6

Breakfast proved to be a tense, awkward affair. Not because of anything said or done out of the ordinary, but for all that was, in fact, unsaid. Anthony treated Edith with the same cold formality he always had done, save the rare, lingering moment.

Edith's skin turned to goosepimples at the thought of the previous night's proximity.

Jonathan proved to be of some help, chatting happily and constantly, apparently oblivious to the tension. By the time most of the food was cleared, Edith began to wonder if perhaps it was because there was no tension to be felt. It was entirely possible she had, in her loneliness and desperation, created something from nothing in the man that was Captain and his behavior toward her.

When they were children, Mary had forever been accusing Edith of unreciprocated crushes—Cousin Patrick, John Drake the gardener's son, Matthew when he first came into their lives. Edith felt her heart wither a bit at the realization that, perhaps, she was the same foolish girl she always had been. What could a man such as Anthony possibly want with her?

"Whatever's the matter with you, Anthony?" Jonathan asked, pulling Edith from her less-than-happy thoughts. Her head snapped up, her eyes catching Anthony's, and only then did she realize he must have been watching her. Something stormy lurked in those clear irises, and try though she did, Edith couldn't turn away.

"Are you angry with each other?" Jonathan asked, causing both adults to flinch and look at anything but each other.

"Of course not, Jonathan. Now please, if you're finished, go upstairs and wash up. We'll be heading back to the Locksley shortly, and I'd like for you to finish the arithmetic you think I forgot about," Anthony said in the firm but affectionate way he had with Jonathan.

When the boy skipped out of the room, Edith sought to avoid any silence. "What does Jonathan know about my presence? Does he know I'm a prisoner?"

"He knows that you are… necessary… for business."

"And that's all?"

"That's the extent of it."

"Curious as he is, he hasn't asked any questions?"

"Of course he has," Anthony said, still evading eye contact. "But he's a child and doesn't need to know everything. Just as you have a penchant for expecting answers to which you have no right."

Edith rolled her eyes, uninterested in sparring with Anthony at the moment, or having the same evasive conversations they always did. After several minutes, Anthony relaxed back in his chair, making a show of ignoring Edith by flicking open a newspaper. It took a moment to register the print on the front page.

"Is that the London Times?" Edith gasped, shocked to see such an English thing as a London paper in a place like the shabby dining room of the inn at Ciano Cay.

"Yes," Anthony frowned, apparently confused by her enthusiasm. He flipped the corner down to look at her for a moment, then turned back to his reading. "It's a week or so late, mind, but I still like to keep up with things as much as possible."

"May I have the society page?" Edith asked, dropping her toast to her plate and leaning forward.

Again, he flipped down the corner of the paper to look at her skeptically. "Didn't peg you as the sort," he muttered, obviously waiting for an explanation. Edith was glad they seemed to have hobbled past whatever brooding tension was between them before.

"My sister's wedding. It was supposed to be last week and I wanted to see if they mentioned my little kidnapping in the postponement." Edith waggled her eyebrows at the word kidnapping.

Edith was sure Anthony was hiding a smile, perhaps even pride, as he rifled through the pages. His tempered expression of glee died completely when he stopped his search. His great crystalline eyes flicked back and forth as he read, then returned to Edith looking almost alarmed.

"You don't need to concern yourself with this rubbish, Prisoner," he muttered, folding the paper shut quickly and tucking it under his arm.

Edith gaped in puzzled surprise as he stood and moved to leave. "What? No! Anthony, let me see it," she demanded, thinking he was just toying with her again. Whenever he called her 'Prisoner' she knew he wasn't being serious.

"No, Edith. You can't have it," he sniffed, holding the paper to his side and easily dodging her attempt to get it.

"Anthony!" she said, "Just let me look!" She was truly getting annoyed. She reached around him with both arms while he tried to out-maneuver her. He was taller, indeed, but she was quick, determined, and had him in a corner.

They were both laughing and huffing in frustration in equal parts, but their playful little scuffle met an abrupt silence when Edith jumped, causing Anthony to stumble into a nearby armchair with Edith fairly on top of him.

Their faces were close together. She had one hand braced on his chest while the other extended past his head, reaching for the paper in his outstretched hand. His other hand caught her hip to keep her weight centered so they didn't both topple onto the floor.

Edith and Anthony held eye contact for the span of several labored breaths before Edith used their position to push off of him and grab the now crumpled Times. He seemed stunned into submission and she wasn't complaining.

Sitting up but failing to leave his lap, Edith ignored the warmth of his legs beneath hers as she flipped hurriedly through the paper. She found the announcement about the Crawley marriage easily, as it was the biggest on the page. It was not a notice of woeful postponement, however, but a proud declaration of the "Happy Union" of Mary and Matthew, at which her "delighted family was in attendance."

Edith felt the tears sting her eyes, and she fought them bravely until Anthony's hand tentatively came to rest on the nape of her neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Perhaps they were trying to find happiness in dire times?"

Even her embarrassment over her crying wasn't enough to stop it completely. "I, I wondered this whole time what would upset them more—my absence or my absence interfering with the wedding," she said. "It nev—never occurred to me that they would just go through with it as if nothing had changed."

"Poor little Aga," Anthony murmured, running his rough hands over her arm and back. "I'm sure they wanted you there."

"That's just it," she muttered, stubbornly wiping the few tears that had escaped. "I'm sure they didn't. But I thought they couldn't possibly all travel to London while I'm in the clutches of unscrupulous, steel-wielding bandits."

Anthony laughed softly, still cooing and petting to try and comfort her. "We're not as bad as all that, are we?" he teased.

"But they don't know that," she replied. When he laughed at her logic she couldn't help it and laughed too.

"All better?" he asked, patting down her hair where his ministrations had dislodged it from its braid.

"I suppose you think me a great, foolish child," she sniffed.

"Actually, I'm offended for you and it wasn't even my sister getting married."

"Really?" Edith asked, looking up, feeling hopeful and validated. She thought he might be mocking her until she met his eyes and saw the sincerity in them.

"Really. Quite insensitive, and in very poor taste if you ask me," he assured.

"For a pirate you really are quite refined," she joked. Then, before she could doubt herself, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Thank you. I'm sorry for the adolescent fit. It shant happen again."

"Good," he muttered, and Edith thought he almost looked afraid of her. Then brushing off the resurging tension he added, "Because next time you walk the plank."

Edith slipped reluctantly from his lap and made her way to the door. "Does your ship even have a plank?" she asked, not the least intimidated.

"It could, and will, if you get any more brazen," he answered, giving her that frown began to suspect was utterly fake.

"You know you'd just jump in after me again," she said quickly, managing to have the last word before she hurried into the hall.

It wasn't until she was out of his sight that Edith felt she could take a full breath again. Her heart was hammering against her ribs and her shaking fingers absently ran over her lips where they had touched his skin.

"I hope it was everything you hoped for, Mary," Edith said triumphantly to no one but herself. Weighing their two very different situations, Edith couldn't help but feel certain she, for once in their lives, had come out on top.

Edith and Jonathan were returned to the Locksley shortly after breakfast. Whatever the boys had been up to, it seemed to have gone well because they were all in high spirits. Aside from a few cuts and bruises Edith mended, they were all unharmed. She shrugged off the whole thing, deciding she was happier not knowing.

Things fell largely into routine again, though Edith saw much more of Anthony and Jonathan over the following several weeks. Anthony let her go back to fencing, for which Edith was immensely thankful. She and the boy read together a lot as well, taking to the floor of Anthony's study while he worked, and when Anthony wasn't looking Edith would help Jonathan complete his arithmetic tables.

"Don't think for a second I don't see what you're doing," Anthony said one afternoon, not looking up from his books.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Edith answered coolly, rubbing Jonathan's head with a conspiratorial smile.

Anthony just harrumphed and went back to his work.

"Can I go play?" Jonathan asked after a while, sounding pained as though he'd never before seen the light of day.

"I'm not sure, can you?"

"_May_ I?" the boy asked, exasperated.

"Of course you may. Be safe. And don't bother Branson if he's busy. You trespass too often on that man's patience."

"Yes sir," Jonathan muttered as he scrambled out the door.

"I think he might be the single most wonderful little human I've ever known," Edith said, gathering up the boy's materials.

"I'm so glad you think so," Anthony said.

"Really? Why?"

It seemed an innocent enough question, but as Edith straightened and waited for Anthony's reply he just sputtered and fumbled through his papers. "I—well, of course anyone—that is to say..."

"Would Jonathan's grammar book help you form a complete sentence?" Edith offered, dropping the worn little volume of rules and lessons on his desk. Anthony released a strange, nervous laugh and shook his head.

Just as he opened his mouth to reply, Barrow stormed in, face alit.

"Sorry to intrude, Captain. We just got word on the Dailey plantation." Thomas was practically bursting at the seams with excitement as he looked to Edith and back to Anthony. She was waiting for him to continue when Anthony stood and cleared his throat.

"Miss Edith, would you please excuse us?"

Edith nodded once, masking her hurt at the exclusion with a sarcastic curtsey.

Out on the deck, it didn't take long for her to find Jonathan, who was dueling with wooden swords with Branson.

"May I take winner?" Edith asked, wondering if she should go get her little sword, affectionately nicknamed 'Little Aga' by the Irishman.

"Girls can't fight swords," Jonathan huffed, taking a clumsy jab at Branson.

"Either you're wrong, or Aga Aditi isn't a girl," Branson laughed, knocking Jonathan's weapon from his hands.

"I assure you, I am most certainly a girl," Edith argued, stepping on the hilt of Jonathan's sword just so, causing it to jump into her hands.

"Proud of your little trick, Aga?" Branson teased, effectively wiping the smirk off Edith's face. Jonathan seemed pleased to witness the duel, and eagerly propped himself on part of the railing that separated the levels of the deck.

"What will the winner get?" Jonathan asked.

"A modicum of respect," Edith grumbled, circling with Branson.

"Unlikely," he snorted, lunging forward.

It was an entertaining little battle, escalating quickly as Edith used a loose rope from one of the sails to swing away to the lower deck and Branson leapt after her. They gathered quite the audience too, most rooting for _Aga Aditi_.

"Where's the loyalty, men?" Branson joked, dodging a crate Edith tumbled in his direction.

"I find they're quite loyal," Edith countered, easily blocking Branson's charge.

The thunking of their heavy wooden weapons echoed port to starboard. "Imagine how interesting this game would be with real steel," Branson suggested.

"Perhaps," Edith huffed, tripping over a stray length of netting. She rolled away from Branson's attack and kicked her leg around to wipe his feet from under him. "I'd hate to mar that pretty face of yours with a real blade," she said with a smile, both scrambling to stand.

"You call that little needle a real blade?" he scoffed, squaring off with her again. "Surely you can't be serious."

"Far more serious than when I call you a real man," she countered, earning a jeering laugh from their audience.

"Why you little," Branson puffed, fighting the smile that threatened to undermine him. "I never should have taught you to fence. You've gotten a bit big for your britches."

"I rather think my britches are too big for me," Edith muttered, side-stepping Branson's advance with a lithe little jump and pressing her blade to his neck.

He dropped his sword in surrender, holding his hands up, and smiled broadly. "Just don't forget the man that taught you," he said.

"What does that make the score, Mr. Carson?" Edith asked, shaking Branson's hand and trying to catch her breath.

Mr. Carson stepped forward and pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket, using a bit of charcoal to make another mark. "Young Branson – twelve," he horned, turning so the whole ship could likely hear the announcement. "Aga Aditi – thirteen!"

Edith jumped triumphantly, catching a hailing Jonathan as he flew into her arms and the crew cheered happily. Branson bowed in acknowledgment before patting Edith affectionately on the head.

The small, silly celebration was interrupted by Anthony's sure, soft voice. The whole ship seemed to still the moment he spoke.

"It seems we have many reasons to celebrate today. Miss Edith's success as a swordsman I have conflicting feelings about," he teased, causing Edith to blush. "But our latest endeavor was a great success, I've just been informed."

The whole crew erupted in hurrahs about that, causing Edith to start at the unexpected elation. She had both arms around Jonathan, and instinctively clutched him to her.

"We've been working tirelessly, I realize, but it was not in vain," Anthony continued, hands clasped behind his back.

There was something about seeing him like this, in the role of great leader, that made Edith's knees go a little weak. How any man could be so gentle and so demanding at once baffled her. She'd never, ever known a man like Anthony could exist anywhere, let alone floating in the shadows of the Caribbean.

"I recognize all you've done and all your hard work, gentlemen. As such," he paused for effect, and even Edith felt the thrill of anticipation. "I think we've earned a break."

Edith looked around as knowing murmurs of approval rose up from the crowd.

"Dovey," Anthony called. "Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen! We're going to Landlubber Cove."

The outburst of hollering at the order was utterly unexpected, and Edith found herself lost in a sea of commotion and preparations. "You heard the Captain, boys! To Landlubber we go!" shouted Branson as everyone scattered to their respective sailing tasks with renewed enthusiasm.

"What on earth is that?" Edith asked Jonathan, who smiled his youthful, toothy grin and scurried off.

The Captain, who looked no more galvanized about his order than he was about lukewarm tea, was about to retreat to his quarters. "Anthony?" Edith asked, hurrying after him.

"Yes?" he turned, Edith coming to an abrupt stop against his chest.

She stumbled back a few paces, stuttering. "What's, um, Landlover's Cove?"

"Landlubber," he corrected mildly. "Do you want to know or would you like to be surprised?"

"I want to know," she said quickly.

"Well it's too bad I intend to surprise you then, isn't it?" he asked, laughing at her scowl. Turning again to retreat to his study he said, "I suggest eating a fair amount of bread with your afternoon tea."

"Why?"

"Because," he shrugged, a glint of pure, mischievous delight in his eye, "you'll need _something_ in your belly to soak up all the rum."

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry I've been so long in updating! I've been absent from fanfic save what little bits I access on my phone, so I'm sorry for not getting back to you all individually. Thank you! for the lovely reviews. I'm glad you're having fun, and thank you also for being so generous with my liberal treatment of historical accuracy. :) Most of the locations are made up too (because I'm too lazy to research where they might actually have docked).

Anyway, the next chapter is all about celebrating, so yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum and all that.

And yay for the EAST alliance! What lovely stories!

Eleanor


	7. Chapter 7

Growing up on St. Agnes, Edith had always heard rumors of places like Tortuga, where women sold their bodies and drink poured freely and men gallivanted like animals—drunk, hairy, choler-filled animals. Among the maids and servants, places like Tortuga were taboo but legend. It made sense to Edith, all considered, that Anthony and the pirates of the Lady Locksley would have their own, wildly contradictory version.

The little island they called Landlubber Cove was so small one could run end to end in under ten minutes. It mostly consisted of fine, white beach save a spray of lush greenery in the middle, where one could find warm streams for bathing.

"You'll find it on no map," Anthony had explained as the crew piled into the dinghies and headed for shore. "It's too small for anyone to care about. And it's all ours."

"What of those who stumble across it by chance?" Edith had asked.

"Ah, you see—it's surrounded by quite shallow, rocky land. No one can sail within a thousand yards."

"But we did."

"Aye. We found the cove, hidden by the cut of the land," he had said proudly. "I suppose if anyone really bothered, they might find a place to weigh anchor, but logically there's just no reason for it. This island can offer nothing save a solid bit of land to spend an evening."

And so the crew of the Lady Locksley christened it Landlubber Cove and called it theirs. "Landlubber, because you're a bumbling mess after an hour on the island," Barrow had enlightened as he pulled their little ship out of the water and onto the sand.

Edith soon discovered what he meant. The crew had quite a system in place. Buried in the ground and marked by carvings in the palm trees, great storage containers held all manner of things. Mostly it was rum, light and dark, and hammocks and blankets. Mr. Carson's dinghy brought crates of potatoes for roasting and some of the men were sent to find fruit.

Great pyres were set up all along the shore while grown men ran barefoot and barebacked like wildling children set free in paradise. Young Will Mason and several others presented instruments Edith had no cause to suspect were on the ship—a flute, accordion, fiddle, and harmonica to be precise—and began playing music.

As dusk fell and the rum kicked in, Barrow's gathering party produced two dozen pheasants for cooking and a number of pineapples and papayas, the juices of which were used as a glaze for the fowl. There were also coconuts and bananas for dessert, all of which were propped over the open fires to be roasted.

Anthony bid Jonathan a safe evening and let the boy go wild, which Edith quite approved of. With the crew already three sheets to the wind, and a fair amount of rum consumed between the Captain and the Prisoner themselves, Edith landed near a small fire with Anthony a fair distance away from the others.

"Do you all do this often?" she laughed as Anthony plucked two birds from the flames to cool. Edith and Anthony were sharing a piece of driftwood that served quite nicely as a bench.

Handing her one of the sticks and a linen cloth for her lap, Anthony sat down and smiled. "Not too often, but it does the men good to cut loose once in a while."

"In a completely safe and harmless way, I might add. Don't most pirates cut loose by trolling for women and raiding sleepy villages?"

"Given that you seem to be the presiding expert on piracy, why don't you tell me," he said with a wry smile.

Edith just took a swig from her mug of rum (tempered with pineapple juice at Barrow's brilliant suggestion) and turned to her meal.

"I've been to many balls and dinner parties, and even once had dinner at the Palace," Edith said quietly, poking around her bird to check the temperature. "Never in my life have I seen a celebration quite like this one."

"You mean to tell me Gregson never took you to the pubs or for a rum-soaked romp on the beach?"

Edith flinched. The question came from nowhere, and she had assumed Anthony understood. She wondered for a moment if he had over-imbibed.

"Gregson never took me anywhere I wanted to go."

"You didn't enjoy your moonlight escapades with your beloved?"

"Don't be daft. There was no moonlighting, no escapades, and no beloved."

Anthony snorted, swigging back more of his own drink, and Edith eyed him curiously while he kicked at a stone like a sullen child.

"Are you under the impression that I'm fond of the man?" Edith finally asked.

"Were you not engaged to him?"

"I was given to Michael Gregson by my father, wrapped in silk and practically served on a platter. I had no say in the matter. I'm a breeding mare, Anthony, and little more. A means to an end. Gregson acquired me the way he acquires horses and houses and land."

Anthony looked so affronted that Edith turned to her meal and refused to meet his eye again. Whether it was from her insolence and honesty, which had always gotten her in trouble, or from the truth of her answer she couldn't say.

For a good while they ate in silence, pulling meat off the pheasants and eating it with their hands. Eventually the tension about Michael eased and they grew comfortable in silence again. Anthony was staring. And given the fact Edith kept catching him doing it, she couldn't help but notice.

The meat was good, amazingly so, but messy. Grease and the sticky, caramelized fruit juice glazed their chins and dripped from their fingers. Edith glanced up as she pushed a piece of breast into her mouth. They both froze momentarily as she chewed and swallowed the too-large mouthful, suddenly aware of how boorish she was behaving.

" 'Sreally incredible," Edith managed, fingers splayed as she pulled the back of her hand across her lips as demurely as possible.

For a moment Anthony continued to stare and Edith wondered if he was horrified by the loss of her finer social skills. She was growing more and more uncomfortable, wondering if perhaps she had lost all merit in his eyes, and was just about to give him a lecture on staring, when his eyes lifted a fraction.

Only then did Edith realize he'd been looking at her lips.

When his gaze focused Anthony seemed to snap out of whatever thought that had arrested him, and he cracked a smile.

The whole exchange took less than a second, but Edith felt her entire bloodstream hit a full-stop before going ahead again all at once. She caught Anthony's grin, which caused her to laugh, which got him going in return.

The rum, she figured.

"I see you've picked up table manners from the boys, in addition to the fencing," Anthony teased.

"You're no better," Edith countered, throwing the linen napkin he'd given her at his head. He threw it back at her just as quickly, and Edith set about putting it to use. "My mother would be so appalled," Edith said with a mournful little snort, cleaning herself as best she could.

"Thirteen days," Anthony said softly, his laughter dying into the fire as his eyes turned back to it.

"What?" she asked from under her eyelashes.

"It's been thirteen days since you've mentioned your mother's approval."

Edith had absolutely no idea what to say about that, or about his keeping track of such a thing. Her heart picked up, and something metallic sounded inside her, pooling in her spine.

"New record," he continued, his voice just above a whisper and far deeper than his conversational tone. "Last one was ten days. Perhaps this time you'll reach two weeks."

Anthony's voice trailed off and Edith's breathing hitched as she watched his eyes fall back to her mouth. She watched his chest swell with a held breath, saw his Adam's apple move down his neck as he gulped. Edith was frozen, unable or unwilling to move a single muscle save her pounding heart.

"You've got…still…" he whispered, waving limply to her chin.

"Hmm?" Edith mumbled, fumbling with the linen and trying desperately to remember how to use it.

"Just there…"

When had they moved so close? And when had their knees met, their faces so near they could hear each other's stilted breathing? The world seemed to fall away into a dull hum. Even Mr. Carson's slurred rendition of some lengthy ballad about a man and a mermaid didn't reach them.

Anthony's hand made the first movement between them, slowly reaching for Edith It rested on her jaw as his thumb pressed against the corner of her mouth, pushing outward across her cheek to wipe the sauce away. Edith couldn't avoid the breathy whine that escaped her, couldn't help the way her eyes fluttered shut or the way she leaned into his touch.

"I think…I got it," he stammered, his voice piercing right through her. Her skin reacted with that strange hot-cold reaction, like the way stepping into a steaming bath causes a chill up one's spine.

Just as Anthony moved to drop his hand, Edith bobbed her head, catching his thumb between her lips and tasting the sweet glaze, licking it off his rough skin. For the briefest moment she felt true fear wrack through her, shocked by her own actions.

"Oh, god, Edith," he groaned. She had no clue what had possessed her to suddenly taste Anthony Strallan, and her boldness had been fading, until that groan.

Releasing his thumb, Edith inched closer on the driftwood, finally looking up at him. His eyes appeared alarmed, his cheeks flushed.

"Certain it's gone?" she asked, smiling to mask her nerves.

Anthony stilled, and Edith was sure he would run, would excuse himself in a stuttering hurry and disappear again for days. But then his gaze went soft, and he rewarded her with that floppy grin. "Better to be thorough, don't you think?"

Edith nodded quickly, eyes wide with fear and wanting, and mostly with fear at how she wanted him, and where.

Anthony's lips were on her chin this time instead of his hand, sucking and searching gently, and then she felt his tongue steal a taste, the sensation of wet and warm a heady combination.

"Oh dear," Anthony tutted against her ear, "You are a mess." Then he was nibbling on her earlobe, the patch of skin beneath it, her jaw, and her throat.

They had to shift to accommodate each other so Anthony could continue being 'thorough'. Edith, vaguely aware that her hands were still coated, avoided clutching him, but held them in the air while her wrists pressed into his shoulders. Anthony's hands found their way to Edith's waist, pulling her closer as he explored the top of her shoulder and the bow of her clavicle.

They managed to lose the piece of driftwood they'd been perched on, somehow melting together into the sand. When Anthony knelt to reach the other ear, he pulled Edith into his lap, pressing her center against his thigh. Edith made a startled noise and he pulled back immediately.

They studied one another for a long while, the Lady and the Pirate, breath mingling, chests pressed together. Hoping to continue the spell they were under, Edith smiled her most wanton smile, bit her lip, and bumped his nose with hers.

Anthony's grin looked equal parts relieved and terrified. Then, with the face he made whenever he was up to something devious, he pulled Edith against his leg again.

The movement plucked at something in Edith's spine, and her hips repeated the gesture again, eliciting a deep moan and another gasp, though which person made which sound Edith couldn't say. Anthony's eyes practically rolled back in his head before his mouth was on hers.

Despite the keening need they both felt, their first real kiss was soft, shy, exploratory. His lips moved against hers with a sort of reverence. He pulled away, eyes still closed, and muttered "Edith" like he didn't believe she was really there.

Then it was Edith who couldn't help herself. She forgot about the mess on her hands, the other food over the fire, the sand beneath them—all that remained was the need. Deep, aching need for the man that held her.

Edith's fingers tangled in his hair while her body arched against him as if he were the source of life. Anthony's hands spread up her back, crushing her against him, as his head fell to one side and his tongue ran along her lips. She opened for him by instinct and was as shocked as she was thrilled when his tongue slipped in. It was just once, but slowly, thoroughly.

Edith wondered if she might die, but decided if she did she'd go out happy. With that, she let herself go, melting into him, allowing any and all thought beyond Anthony Strallan to float away into the black, Caribbean night.

Anthony's kisses were slow, languid, soft. He sucked lightly on her upper lip, and then her bottom, his hands traveling from her back up between them to cradle her face. Edith felt everything and nothing at once, her body locked up but buzzing with energy. She was senseless, mad, her whole body boiling like a kettle, ready to whistle—it felt miraculous.

They pulled away to catch their breath, brown eyes meeting blue and both wide and fiery.

When Anthony moved to take her mouth again he was fiercer this time. Edith smiled against his lips.

"What's so amusing?" he mumbled between kisses.

"I'm the only thing I've ever seen you plunder," she laughed, pulling him to her before he could respond. She moaned again when he ran one hand through her hair at the base of her neck to press against him.

The want that bubbled up in Edith was new, unfamiliar, and white hot. Oh, but she welcomed it as it pulsed between her legs and drummed in her ears.

When Anthony's free hand traveled to her breast, she gasped. Suddenly even men's clothing was too much. Especially when his thumb rubbed a small circle on the underside and her nipple hardened into his reverential palm.

"Off," Edith whined, slipped her hands between them to pull at her shirt.

Anthony pushed Edith's hips away from him, ignoring her groaned protests and efforts to remain pressed against him. They were short-lived anyway. He sprawled the two of them out, laying Edith on her back in the soft sand, still warm from the daylight. He cradled her head with his left hand, leaning his weight on that elbow, leaving his right hand free to roam her supple little body.

Edith waited as he looked over her once, her hands fisted in the folds of his shirt, and he smiled down at her appreciatively. Wrapping one hand behind him to massage the nape of his neck, she pulled her laced top loose with the other. Without a hint of fear or shame, she bared her left shoulder and breast to him completely.

"I think there's more glaze, just there," she whispered, nudging her naked shoulder at him.

Anthony sighed like he'd just been pardoned, and closed his eyes when Edith bent one knee and felt his hardness against her thigh. He didn't move for her breast as she'd expected, instead opting to kiss her again. Too chastely for Edith's liking, she pulled against him, rubbing her exposed breast against his chest. She keened at the texture of his shirt against the sensitive flesh.

When she felt his hand move toward her chest she relaxed slightly, but suddenly he was pulling her shirt back over her shoulder.

"Off," she said again, fighting his hand where it held the cotton modestly over her.

"No," Anthony said. Edith frowned when she saw sadness, deep and undeniable, steal over his grin.

"Yes," she countered assertively, kissing at the grain of his throat.

"Edith, you're drunk."

"I've had some rum, I'm not incapacitated," she muttered, darting out her tongue to taste the sea salt on his skin.

"It's not right, Edith," he croaked, but she felt his hardness twitch against her.

"I disagree," she hummed, "I think it is just… perfect," and to prove her point she shifted to rub more persistently against the bulge in his trousers.

Anthony's whole body tensed at the contact and she blushed profusely but refused to move. She waited, hoping to the stars and moon he'd just do something to soothe the ache at her core.

"No," he said again.

There was a heartbreaking finality in his response, and Edith knew for sure she had lost. Her hands fell limply to the sand, releasing him to lean up and away. He did so after some sort of inner battle, only a hint of which Edith assumed she witnessed.

Anthony sat back against the driftwood near Edith's feet, both of them silent as they came crashing back to earth. Edith looked up at the night sky, legs bent as though they were still cradling Anthony between them, lungs working hard to remember their function.

She couldn't recall having ever seen so many stars, or caring less about them.

Edith didn't just want Anthony like some Tortuga dancer. She loved him, and the fact that he wouldn't take her on a beach, covered in grease and filth and sand, out in the open, made her as much more in love with him as it made her want to throttle him.

"We should go back to the ship, the rest of them can sleep it off where they landed," Anthony muttered, and Edith wondered if he was as disappointed as she.

Anthony manned the schooner himself, and for once Edith didn't fight him. She sat, prim and demure, in the front of the little boat, staring away at nothing as if she were back on the pond with Cousin Patrick at the house in Yorkshire.

Edith was surprised when Dovey was at the top of the rope to help her aboard.

"Why on earth aren't you out enjoying yourself?" Edith chided affectionately, worried that he worked too hard.

Dovey blushed but didn't answer.

"Mr. Dovey doesn't enjoy these kinds of celebrations as the others do," Anthony explained, standing behind Edith with a hand between her shoulder blades.

Dovey looked between the Captain and Edith several times and suddenly laughed in something like disbelief. Edith was thoroughly confused until she looked over her shoulder at Anthony.

His hair was sticking in every direction, his waistcoat was twisted, and his collar wrinkled. More condemning were the handprints, Edith's handprints, of sand stuck to glaze over his sleeves and chest, and patches of sand stuck to his face by the mess.

One glance from Anthony was enough to confirm she was in much the same state.

They were both blushing as they turned back to Dovey, who simply smiled that shy smile at both of them.

"Oh, do shut up," Anthony grumbled, pushing Edith past the nearly giddy giant.

At her door Anthony paused, leaning close. Edith thought he might kiss her again, and was already planning a route to her bed. Her heart sank as his lips found her forehead instead.

She didn't want him to be anything less than whom and what he was, but being a gentleman certainly had its downside sometimes.

Her body hummed for him, but her heart needed his too, pressed close and reminding her it belonged with hers.

"Goodnight," Lady Edith," he whispered.

Edith closed her eyes. "Ten."

"What?"

"Ten days," she said, opening her eyes and leaning against the doorframe. "Ten days since you've called me 'Lady'." Her voice betrayed the sadness and loss she was already suffering.

"Goodnight," he said again, bopping her nose gently with his knuckle.

"Captain," she bid, slumping into her quarters. It took as long as washing the muck off her face to vacillate a dozen times on storming his room. She was still willing the ache in her to subside when she finally drifted off into a numb, rum-aided sleep.

* * *

A/N: As you all so astutely guessed, inhibitions were loosened and things escalated. But Anthony is always the gentlemen, isn't he?

Thank you, always, for continuing to read and review, and for following me on this little romp! I think dynamics are going to be slightly different on board the Lady Locksley from now on. And Anthony will do some revealing soon, I promise...


	8. Chapter 8

Edith woke absurdly late the next morning, without the headache she had expected. It was remarkably quiet on deck, the entire crew apparently in agreement that noise was the only enemy to fight today. After trying and failing to eat something, she returned to her cabin, as Anthony had yet to venture from his.

Never in her life had Edith swooned, or spent any time at all dreaming of a man. Rather, she had dreamt only of adventure and escape and freedom. It seemed wholly backwards that now, on a pirate ship, all calloused hands and bronzed skin, in _trousers_ no less, all she could think about was the stoic, gentle man who had kidnapped her.

She would have thought she was losing her mind, if she didn't know inherently that beneath all his cryptic answers and long-standing defenses he was the best man she had ever known. It didn't scare her that she was in love with him, not in the least. It had happened so quickly and so thoroughly she never had time to question it, and Edith would gladly take her heart and lay it at his feet if she thought it would prove anything.

No, what frightened Edith was the very real possibility, nay probability, that the man had little to no interest in her at all. And why should he? A brave, intelligent, worldly man with a past and unknown wealth—what could he want with a daft, boring, sheltered thing like herself?

Soon enough he would tire of her, or his little game that involved her, and return her to Gregson where she would be left to rot in a social prison.

Edith was crying softly and helplessly when Jonathan came in unannounced. She wiped her tears as quickly as possible and sat up, forcing a smile.

"Hello, darling boy. Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

Jonathan nodded and offered a toothy grin, lingering in the door until Edith held out her arms.

"Good. Care to keep me company for a bit?"

It seemed to be the very thing he was searching for because he climbed on her bed and wrapped himself around her without hesitation.

"What's wrong?" she cooed, running a hand through his hair as her nurse used to when she was younger.

"I don't want you to leave, Miss Edith."

Edith's heart stammered and stopped before dropping down to her stomach. "Why would I be leaving? Hmm?" This was it, she was sure. Jonathan had been sent by the Captain to say her time aboard the Lady Locksley was at an end.

"I don't know. You'll get tired of us, or find somewhere you'd rather be, or you'll get sick. People leave all the time, and I don't want you to go."

Edith sighed in relief that her departure wasn't necessarily imminent. "Oh my dear boy," she said, kissing his head and wondering when he had stolen her heart along with Anthony. "I can't say I'll never leave you, because life is rather unpredictable. Why just five months ago I thought I was never going to leave my father's estate, save the occasional trip to England. And now, here I am. But I can say, promise, that I'll never stop caring about you, and that if it's up to me, I'll be with you always."

"Really?" he asked, breaking Edith's heart. It was easy to forget that Jonathan was still a child sometimes, but he was, and he was a child who had lost his mother and been abandoned by his father.

"Really. I've no idea what will happen to all of us, but I give my word that I'll keep you with me for as long as I can."

"I've never had a mother," Jonathan muttered after a while. "But Anthony says mine loved me."

"Of course she did," Edith managed, though her voice cracked a little. Laying her head on Jonathan's as they lounged against the pillows, she said, "I've had a mother, but I never felt like she cared. I know what it is to feel alone."

"Well you have me, Miss Edith," he affirmed. "And Anthony. And I don't think he's going to let you go any time soon."

"Oh?" she laughed lightly, wishing she could believe him. "And what makes you so certain?"

"Because he's never let anyone read his books before, and he's never let a girl know about Landlubber before, and because when you're not looking he gets this face like his bones are hurting, and I've _never_ seen him like that before."

"Well," Edith said, closing her eyes, "I hope you're right."

"Are you happy here, with us?" Jonathan asked.

"Very, very much."

"Do you know any songs?"

"What kind of songs?"

"Like, lullabies?"

"Yes. Would you like to hear one?"

"Yes," Jonathan said, holding Edith tighter to him.

Edith began to hum, still stroking his hair until his breathing grew steady and slow and his hands slipped from their hold on her torso.

She and the child were in the same position when she woke some time later, feeling eyes on her. Edith looked up to find a stricken Anthony sitting in the chair at her desk, watching them.

"Do you often play the voyeur while women are sleeping?" she whispered, trying not to disturb the boy who was totally unconscious in her arms. She was also trying to ignore the way her heart swelled in her chest at the very sight of him.

Anthony just shook his head slowly. Only then did she notice how haggard and tired he seemed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Edith asked, blushing under his gaze. His brow was furrowed, as if he was mapping a strategy, but the slight downturn of his mouth indicated a sort of sadness.

He lifted one shoulder and let it fall before speaking. "I think the lad has a crush on you."

"Has he ever had any sort of mother figure?" Anthony shook his head again, and Edith muttered, "Poor baby," into the boy's hair.

"What time is it?" she asked after a while.

"Late. Nearly supper. The crew isn't quite recovered so we'll set sail tomorrow for Queenstown, and I'd like you to stay on board when we dock."

"What's in Queenstown?"

Anthony just frowned at her some more, and Edith couldn't help her huff of frustration. "From now on, instead of asking questions which you have no intention of answering, I think I'll just wait for you to drop whatever crumbs of information you're willing to give. Perhaps it will save the awkward silence and blank stares."

Anthony, for once, looked incredibly apologetic and nodded as though making up his mind about something.

"I, um, I believe I owe you some answers," he said, scowling at his folded hands. Then dropping his head and looking back at her he amended, "I _want_ to tell you."

"Yes, alright," Edith stammered, as thrilled as she was alarmed by his sudden change of mind. Something in his demeanor told her she would not like what he had to say, or that it would be followed by unwelcome news.

They stared at each other, both with puckered brows, searching each other out, until Anthony stood and helped shift Jonathan off of her. "Branson said he was up until dawn. He'll sleep like the dead the rest of the night, I'm sure. Do you mind leaving him here?"

"Of course not," Edith answered quickly, taking Anthony's proffered hand to stand. She found some small measure of comfort in the fact he didn't immediately release it as he led her out of the room.

Sitting at the very bow of the ship, Edith and Anthony may as well have been the only two people aboard the anchored vessel. There were no dice games, no cleaning or chores being fulfilled. Faintly on the wind that was picking up, Edith thought she could almost hear Dovey's snoring from somewhere in the crew's quarters.

The distant sky seemed to be turning an ominous shade, and Edith wondered whimsically if it wasn't a bad omen.

Edith burned to speak, to ask him a thousand things—not about his plans, or his 'business' but, about him. She wanted to know where he grew up and why he left, what his favorite book was and if he had known his parents. She wanted to know of his family, and his childhood, and what he dreamt about at night and if he had ever loved. The question louder than all others was whether or not he could love her, but she bit her tongue and waited for him to speak. After a long while he finally did.

"Are you," Anthony began, then winced as he looked out toward the horizon. "Are you angry with me?"

That was the last thing she expected, and it threw her so off guard she couldn't form a reply.

"You see, when we came up with the plan, with the idea of capturing you, well not _you_, but Gregson's betrothed, well I was quite angry, and admittedly a bit intoxicated, and rash, and I was calloused too, I think. I assumed any child who had grown up on her Robert Crawley's estate and was involved with Michael Gregson, well I assumed you would be some sort of…" he struggled for the words, his speech quick and emotional.

"Soulless, brainless, shell of a human who cared only about what she was told to care about," Edith finished for him with a wry smile.

"Yes," Anthony said remorsefully.

"And instead you managed to capture the single most opinionated, stubborn, anti-social madwoman in the British West Indies."

"Yes," he said again, though he smirked sadly at her.

"I'm not angry, Anthony. I'm still confused, I still don't understand your intentions or this 'plan' you mention, and I can't seem to reconcile the Anthony I know with the Captain Strallan who would kidnap an innocent young woman." She took a deep breath and ran a hand over his arm, then snapped it back to her lap as the muscles stiffened beneath her touch. "But no, angry I most certainly am not."

"Why?" he asked, half desperate. "I mean how?"

Edith shrugged. "Because… because you have given me an adventure."

Anthony was quiet for a long time after that.

"I don't wish to push, Anthony. And I don't want you to tell me anything unless you desire to. But you can tell me anything, just so you know. I promise."

"I want to tell you everything, Edith. Never in my life have I felt so compelled to share everything about myself with someone."

Edith inched closer to him, afraid of scaring him off but restless with longing to touch him. She was on her knees, wearing one of the day dresses Anthony had procured for her, facing him as he sat beside her, one elbow propped on a knee and staring out over the setting sun.

"I don't… I'm not the sort of man," he tried. Then decisively he said, "You belong with someone better, Edith, someone more deserving of you than an old, lost man like me. I shouldn't have… last night… I've been running from my own past so long I can scarcely remember when I started. And there's no going back for me. And if you are associated with a pirate, Edith, you'll be ruined."

"What are you suggesting?" she asked, her voice small. She knew to some extent he would regret their fevered kisses, but she didn't like the sudden tone he had taken. It was colder, and darker, and not at all what she had hoped to hear.

"You have to go back."

"No."

"Edith," he warned, but she cut him off.

"No! You brought me here, _you_ took me from the only world I'd known, you did it against my will. I won't have you make one more decision for me like I've no say in the matter."

"You don't have any say, " Anthony hissed, and Edith tried to quash her anger, tried to remember that this man was noble and honorable, however misguided. She knew that, deep down where he buried all his secrets, part of him didn't want her to go. This was Anthony trying to do right by her, and getting it hopelessly wrong.

"I'm not some pawn you can move around at will, Anthony, to be sacrificed as if I don't matter."

"Of _course_ you matter, Edith! Of course. You matter more than anything now. You mean more to me…" He growled and clinched his teeth. When he spoke again he sounded weary but determined. "You will be returned to your home where you will be safe and provided for. I can't let you stay here and continue to pretend we aren't a band of criminals and thieves and sordid men."

With that Edith knelt away, using the railing to stand. The proximity to him was almost painful and she couldn't be near him when he was being so dense.

"I don't need you to be some knight in shining armor," Edith said, allowing all her anger and love to seep into her words at once. "I don't need you to save me from yourself as if I don't know what I'm getting myself into. I need you Anthony, _you_, the man masquerading as a pirate. I need you to protect me from the real fiends masquerading as men."

And as if by divine agreement with the crackling tension and mutual displeasure between them, that very moment thunder cracked the sky in two and rain began to fall, trying to quell the fire that threatened to start between blue eyes and brown.

* * *

A/N: Oh my, but you have all been kind. And _very_ patient. I'm sorry for the loooong delay in updates. I found myself taking a mini-vacation in hospital for a stint, and have since been recovering from a minor (and by minor I mean utterly earth-shattering) loss.

This is decidedly not my best chapter, and I promise to reinvigorate myself and this story in no time. I had been sitting on this a while, and didn't dare publish, but I've decided to put it up and keep on keeping on and all that. So please bear with me. And thank you, THANK YOU, for your continued review/read/support. And I've adored the stories posted lately, they kept me going the last couple weeks!

Finally, and I promise to stop rambling, I have a hand-written one-shot that is quite lengthy and totally drug-induced. As soon as I've typed it up I will post separately. :)

Phew... I'm done talking. :) Long live Andith! (Anyone else terrified for 22 September?)


	9. Chapter 9

Edith couldn't make herself feel badly about her own actions, but she did feel guilty for pushing, for the regret Anthony may feel. He was a _gentleman_. To the core. And Edith would never be persuaded otherwise. Sadly, the man was not so convinced of his own worthiness.

Staring into the darkness, she felt at once replete and restless, trying to understand everything that had happened, all that had changed in such a short time.

* * *

Never in her life had she been so vehemently angry, standing on the deck with Anthony while he tried to dismiss her. It was with no small amount of regret she realized the anger was an oddly familiar emotion. Love had a wicked bedfellow, and being able to feel one allowed her to feel the other.

She burned for Anthony, and in that moment, furious though she was, she was still helplessly in love with him. "You can't make me leave," Edith growled, hands fisted at her side.

"This can't go on forever. Either I take you back now, or someone comes to rescue you."

"You'd let that happen?"

"Don't you want it to?"

Edith was beyond exasperation. She was beyond clever words and cryptic exchanges. She was spent. After _months_ of wits and coy flirtations and a closeness that moved forward at a nervous, hobbling pace, Edith decided it was time.

"Of course I wanted to be rescued," she shrieked, and Anthony looked satisfied but pained at once, which only fueled her frustration. "You arrogant man! You would rather be right than be happy."

Anthony frowned at Edith as though she were speaking tongues, both of them glaring at each other, the rain pelting down around them making so much noise they practically had to shout.

"I _did_ want to be rescued, Anthony. I've wanted it my whole life. And you rescued me. You saved me from my father, from Gregson, from all of it. Please, please don't make me go back to them now. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear to be away from you."

Edith tried to keep her chin high, her back stiff, but she felt the sobs tumbling up out of her chest and she was helpless to stop them.

"Edith, do you—how can you mean that?"

"Haven't you been listening? It's all I've ever wanted. You, Anthony, are everything I never even knew to hope for."

Whatever he said next had been drowned out by the crack of thunder overhead, and Anthony pulled Edith into his quarters by her arm. Inside the noise of the weather was dulled but still hammered against the structure and the windows.

"You are horrendously stubborn," Anthony accused.

"And you're a coward, Anthony Strallan."

Another crack of thunder, and Anthony took a step toward her.

"Is, is the ship going to…" she tried, suddenly breathless from their proximity and the heat emanating from the hand Anthony still had on her. "I don't know, break in two under this?"

"Sea's calm, it's just a rainstorm," he said quickly. Anthony's eyes were wild, his jaw set as he peered down at her.

"Anthony, I just," Edith tried, but before she could finish his lips were crushing against hers. His mouth was warm, and soft, but insistent, and Edith groaned as his tongue dipped in to touch hers. Edith was aware, as he picked her up, that her legs had wrapped themselves around his waist, but she couldn't begin to care.

Michael Gregson had kissed her several times, pawed at her chest and bum even after a particularly wine-filled evening, and never once had she enjoyed or encouraged his attentions. But Anthony, Anthony could nibble and taste and stroke all he wanted and Edith would never have the desire or the means to say no.

The heat from their last encounter returned as if it had never been gone at all, and perhaps it hadn't. It pooled between her legs, and Edith knew instinctively that it was a good thing.

As quickly as he'd started the kiss, Anthony dropped Edith and stumbled back. Edith was left reeling, struggling to gather her senses and maintain balance and remember to breathe all at once.

"I'm so, so sorry. It's deplorable, my behavior. I shouldn't, I shouldn't take liberties," Anthony stammered, clutching at a nearby table as he seemed to catch his breath.

"_Liberties_? How can you be so… so," Edith shouted, face flushed and bosom sufficiently heaving. "Anthony Strallan, damn it all!"

She flew at him, her body meeting Anthony's with such force that they both tumbled to the ground. Edith landed on top of him, and Anthony looked some combination of admiring and appalled. Edith's hands gripped his shirt, as she lifted his shoulders enough to slam them back to the floor.

"I can't believe you, I really cannot," she said, looming over him. Anthony was stunned into silence as he waited for her to continue. "Why was I brought onto this ship?"

"To prevent your marriage to Gregson," he answered softly, as if afraid another denial might really drive her mad.

"Why?"

"So that he wouldn't have access to your dowry or your father's fortune, which I believe he is after."

"Gregson has just as much money," Edith frowned, sounding less forceful as she grew more aware of the warmth of their bodies through their soaked clothes.

"No, no he doesn't. He's good at covering it but he's well in debt and I know for fact he hasn't any real equity."

"Why Michael? What's he done?"

"Edith, please," Anthony demurred, closing his eyes and dropping his head to the floor. His hands, she noticed, traveled to her hips but made no move to dislodge her.

"_Why_, Anthony. I have to know."

"Because he ran away with my wife, left her pregnant and destitute, and I didn't know of his abandonment until it was too late to save her. She and the child died in birth. And as she was still very much married to me at the time, my family was nearly ruined by it."

Edith felt her heart break for Anthony but managed to avoid any gasps or tearful apologies. "Because of the scandal?"

"And because he was the estate manager at the time, because my father trusted him and left the position to Gregson in his will. And because I was too craven to fight at all. My father's fortune was mostly gone, Gregson was already halfway to the West Indies, and I was so unused to the feeling of rage that I hardly knew what to think."

Edith's grip loosened but she pressed closer against him, leaning down against his chest. "So you've been exacting revenge for the last… how many years?"

"Fifteen or so. And, yes and no. It started as blind revenge, admittedly, but the people my father used to employ, my family's lands, everything and everyone was suffering from what I'd done."

"You did nothing," Edith scolded, trying to remind Anthony he wasn't to blame.

But he smiled suddenly, sad and trembling, and said, "Exactly."

"And this ship, the men?"

"Some of them just needed shelter, someone to look after them. Some were suffering Gregson's wake and I've tried to do what I can, given I failed Madeline, my wife, so miserably. Jonathan, for instance..."

Edith felt her stomach turn a little, a pang of anger. "Is Michael his father?" she hissed. When Anthony only nodded she felt a flash of something like rage, and she wondered how it compared to Anthony's.

"I didn't want to tell you any of this. I wanted to spare you. You shouldn't have to hear it," Anthony whispered.

Edith had a great many more questions, but found herself no longer able to avoid the very physical need to touch him, this man who raised his enemy's son because it was the right thing to do. She kissed him, and he resisted.

"Edith, no. I promised no harm would come to you and I meant it. I won't disgrace you, or do anything to damage your reputation."

"I've been without a chaperone on a ship of men for nearly six months, Anthony. I assure you my reputation is sufficiently damaged."

"Edith, I may be a coward, but I'm not a louse. You deserve far, far more than anything I can offer you."

"Anthony," Edith huffed, leaning up to work at the buttons of his waistcoat. "For as much time as we've spent together, as many conversations as we've had, you still seem to be under the impression that I care what others think of me."

"_I_ care what other's think of you, even if you don't," he said, watching her fingers as they fumbled with this clothing.

"I care only what you think of me, and I don't wish to appear wanton or impious to you."

"I could never think that, darling," he muttered, gulping loudly.

"I didn't know it was possible, Anthony, to feel so many things at once. But I'm tired of fighting them, and you. I, I..." Edith stammered, finally losing her nerve as his waist coat fell open and she ran her hand over the bit of chest exposed by his rain-laden shirt.

"Edith," Anthony pleaded, his voice almost pained, and she closed her eyes.

"It's alright, Anthony, if you don't feel the same for me. I do understand, but I don't want that to stop you," Edith whispered. "However immoral that makes me sound."

Anthony finally pushed Edith away enough to sit up. She braced against his rejection, sure that it would be a blow, but it never came. Instead she felt his hands on her face, his lips ghosting over hers before pulling away again.

"Please look at me," he murmured, kissing the tip of her nose. When she finally opened her eyes, Edith found his boring into her. "Edith, I, I love you. I've loved you since I nearly drowned you, incongruous as that sounds," and he even gave a lighthearted little laugh. "I avoided you for a while, unsure how to…navigate the situation. And then you were stubborn and brilliant and brave, and I just kept falling. For a man who enjoys control and stability, I'm sure you can imagine, it was quite… terrifying. And then the beach and the fire and the way your skin looked in the glow of it…"

Anthony trailed off, shaking his head as he looked away.

Edith could barely breathe from relief and elation. "You love me?"

"I know, I told you that you deserve better and I meant it. I just couldn't _bear_ for you to think I didn't want you. Edith, my god, you're the most staggeringly beautiful—"

But then she was kissing him again, because now was not the time for words. Except perhaps the three or four vital ones. "I love you too," she managed before pressing against him again.

The taste of him, the feel of his hands on her sides and back and neck, the knowledge that he wanted her, wanted _this_. Edith was thrilled. And ready. And determined. _How does the body know?_ she thought as her hips rolled artlessly against him, and she thrilled at the strange feeling of his length straining against his breeches.

"Edith," Anthony growled. "Please don't make this harder, love. I really cannot take what isn't mine."

"Of course it's yours," she snapped. "Anthony, for all the knowledge in that beautiful mind of yours, you're completely dense. If we had met at a ball we would have courted, spent years having tea and taking strolls and all that nonsense, stealing the occasional garden kiss perhaps. Then, after far too long you would have asked for Papa's permission, and we would have been kept separated for months until we were wed in a church with hundreds of people we didn't know watching."

"What's your point, my darling?"

Edith smiled, a wicked smile that she hoped Anthony understood. "We did not meet at a ball, Anthony. My father is not here to grant or deny permission. You, my handsome pirate, shattered all the rules when you took me captive. Why should you suddenly wish to abide by them now?"

"Because you deserve it," he answered simply.

Edith sighed, feeling she wouldn't win this battle. Not tonight, at any rate. Perhaps more discussion, but she could feel the weariness of the afternoon settling in and see it in Anthony's eyes. "Alright," she conceded. "Alright, for tonight I will accept your answer. _Only_ for tonight, Anthony," she added with a warning, fiery kiss. Then she stood, pulling him after.

As Edith turned, Anthony caught her hand, keeping her in place. "Edith, I do love you. I do. In a way I think I always loved you. I loved you before I met you. But what I've done, it's reprehensible and selfish, and—"

Edith shushed him, running her hands through his hair. "No more, Anthony. We're both exhausted. No more worrying tonight. We'll talk everything through tomorrow but for now let's go to bed."

Anthony nodded, not looking at her. "I'll take you to your room."

"No," Edith said firmly, standing and pulling Anthony down the hall. "Together. I won't leave you."

"Edith, it isn't proper," Anthony pleaded.

"Yes, well, neither is a woman in men's clothing, a Lady learning to fence, throwing back rum, or even foregoing stockings," she shrugged.

"I, I suppose you have a point," he grumbled, very nearly pouting as he moved ahead to open the door to his chambers.

Edith laughed. "Again, you're upset. You'd rather be right than have a woman in your bed. Foolish man." But then her laughter stilled when she saw the soft linens of his long, wide bed and the books stacked beside and a spare pair of boots tossed in the corner. "It smells like you," she muttered, squeezing his hand.

Anthony was reluctant but still compliant, turning down the bed for her as if he intended she climb in.

"I'm soaked, Anthony, and so are you," Edith pointed out, undoing the buttons on the front of her dress.

"You intend for us to, to… together? Without clothes?" And Anthony looked as aghast as Edith imagined her Granny might at the suggestion.

Edith, rather than argue, made her point by removing her dress. She watched Anthony's eyes travel her body and nearly _felt_ his gaze as if his hands were following. That burning ache returned, but she accepted she was likely to feel it whenever she thought of him now, let alone stood so exposed before him. Edith didn't have to glance at herself to know the white cotton chemise she wore would be utterly sheer from the rain.

"Now you," she demanded. Numbly, as if under some sort of influence, he obeyed. Anthony pulled his shirt over his head and toed off his boots. He looked nervous, shy even, and Edith laughed at the notion. "I have no knowledge of this, I grant, but you're…beautiful, Anthony."

He scoffed at her, pulling her to the bed. "You're blinded by misplaced affection, I'm sure."

"No, I'm not. And I'm not climbing into bed in wet clothes," she said forcefully. Then, unsure where her fit of bravery came from, Edith took a deep breath and pulled her chemise off her shoulders, slipping it down to the floor.

"Oh, god, Edith," Anthony groaned, staring despite himself. "You're playing a dangerous game here."

"I trust you," she said simply, reaching for his trousers.

Anthony caught her wrists. "You, you better let me," he stammered, and she allowed him that, slipping under the bedclothes.

Edith watched in fascination. Where she had curves he had lines, thick and firm with muscle and strength. His chest was broad, his waist flat, his hips sturdy and narrow, his legs long. Never had she seen a naked man, and she wondered if she would have found anyone else so comely. He was handsome in the extreme, and even that part of him that she should shy away from held a certain fascination for her beyond mere curiosity. Anthony was blushing, which Edith found quite endearing, and hesitated at the side of the bed.

"I promise, just to sleep," Edith said, coaxing him in. She felt the chill of exposure as he lifted the sheets briefly, and then it was replaced by his radiating body heat. "Just hold me," she requested, turning so he might put his arms around her.

"You, my darling Aga, are going to be the end of me," he murmured against her ear, tentatively settling with a hand on her arm and his knees against her legs. Edith wriggled back against him, ignoring his protesting groan, and pulled his arm more tightly around her so that their clasped hands ended up between her breasts.

"Now sleep," she said, and soon enough his breathing slowed and his muscles went limp against her. Well, except for one, which she tried not to tease.

And that is how Edith Crawley found herself awake in the middle of the night, naked beside the only man she could ever love, wondering exactly how she would convince him to take her before they left the bed the following morning.


	10. Chapter 10

Edith was uncomfortably warm, and when she tried to move she found her efforts hindered by the strange weight of a hairy, muscular arm around her. The previous night flooded back, and she blushed head to toe when she remembered her false bravado. That she had even entered a gentleman's room was scandalous enough, but that she insisted they sleep together, and in the nude no less, was wholly outrageous.

Wonderfully, deliciously, tantalizingly outrageous.

Edith smiled and rolled over, no longer alarmed by the oddity of his masculine form. In sleep he was rather stern looking, brow furrowed and lips curved down. Edith giggled at the notion that this man took even his sleep seriously. His chest was covered in light hair that she found oddly enticing, and there was a lone mole above his bellybutton. The firm muscles of his stomach flinched under her touch as she ghosted her hand over him, tracing every freckle or little scar she might find.

Edith hadn't realized he was awake until his hand left her hip to stop her from pushing the sheet away that pooled at his waist, covering his most intimate parts. She laughed, a startled, nervous sound, and forced herself to look up. As she feared, his expression was a mix of terror and regret.

"Good morning," she said with a smile, trying desperately to convey the radiating pleasure she found in the whole situation.

"Hello," he murmured, and Edith was so relieved when he smiled back that she nearly cried.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, unable to decipher his strange expression as his tucked the linens around her to keep her covered, preventing any skin to skin contact.

"I can't decide if you're utterly fearless or utterly mad or both."

Edith's heart thrummed violently against her chest. "I'm neither, Anthony, really. I'm just…" She took a deep breath, trying to conjure some last threads of bravery. "I'm so completely in love with you that I want nothing more than to be with you. Like this."

"I can't," he whispered, reaching for Edith's hand and bringing her knuckles to his lips. "I won't, Edith."

"Why?" she asked. "Propriety aside, would you want to be with me?"

"Edith, I assure you, this is not an issue of desire. In fact, it's taking quite a lot of determination not to give in. But you are worth so much more. You deserve so much more."

"I deserve to be happy, as do you."

"You deserve to know what you're asking for, and to be treated like the Lady you are."

"I know what I'm asking, Anthony. I know it's irrevocable. That's exactly what I want."

Anthony smiled sadly and kissed her forehead. "Let's get dressed. We need to talk."

Before she could protest, Anthony was out of bed and slipping his pants back on. He turned his back, refusing to ogle her as he took her now damp clothes from the floor and held them out blindly.

"We slept pressed against each other, Anthony. I shouldn't think it would be much worse to look at me now."

"Everything is different in the light of day," he said, and he must have sensed how that might have stung because he immediately added, "I've tested my will enough for one morning, darling. I'm only human after all."

At Anthony's behest, Edith waited in his study while he went to fetch tea and breakfast. When he returned, Anthony seemed more himself and less the jittery, uncomfortable man she'd woken up with.

"I, um, I have a plan," Anthony said, setting down the tray and offering a cup of tea to Edith.

"Do tell," she said dryly, wishing everything with him didn't have to be an endeavor, planned and scheduled and processed.

"I know you're displeased with me, and that's alright. I want you to know, to understand exactly what I've done, what we've been doing regarding Gregson, and then," he paused, looking quite hesitant and stiff, before dropping to his knees before Edith where she sat in his chair. "Then, if you still want to, after knowing everything, I want to go to town, and get married."

The teacup tumbled from Edith's hands as her mouth fell open. "You want to what?" She shrieked, scrambling for a thought.

"I do _want_ you Edith, desperately, and I love you. I've no idea why you would, and I know it's a lot to ask, but if you'll have me, I want to make you my wife. Properly."

"Properly? Like a church and guests and, and," she struggled.

"No, my sweet one. I'm afraid that may be a little beyond our circumstances at the moment. But I know how stubborn you are, and I know that if I stay near you much longer my resolve will crumble. I'm too weak to send you away, especially now that you say you love me—"

"I do love you," she affirmed quickly, leaving the chair to kneel with him.

"I'm so glad, my darling Edith. So, I'll tell you everything, and then, if you still want to, we'll go to town and find an official of some sort and," he said, far too business-like for Edith's taste.

"You really want to, to marry me?" she whispered.

"I know, darling, that you wanted adventure and freedom. I'm not trying to hold you back, I'm not. And if you say no I'll understand. I truly don't deserve you, not at all, but I just can't in good conscious keep you with me without it. It's your choice, of course, but it's the last bit of convention I'm afraid I insist on."

"Oh, Anthony, yes, yes," Edith laughed. "Marrying you would be the greatest adventure. Of course I want to marry you. Whatever made you think I wouldn't?"

"Well, I find you rather unpredictable sometimes," he chuckled before she crushed her lips to his. Edith tilted her head, looking for that kind of kissing that made her knees go weak and her head spin, but Anthony pulled away. "Talking," he insisted, though he was slightly out of breath. "I want you to know."

Edith conceded, pulling away. After planting her firmly in one chair and begging her to stay put, Anthony cleaned up her spilled tea and took the chair opposite.

Edith was buzzing with excitement and elation to the point that she could barely sit still, but she knew it was important to Anthony that she listen, and so nibbling on some bread, she forced herself to focus.

Over the course of the morning Anthony told her everything. He told her of his marriage to Madeline, that it was arranged and she'd begged him to refuse their parents, how he hadn't. They didn't love each other and so grew resentful and distant.

"I was thirty, she was twenty," he explained, "And we were wed. She wouldn't look at me at all the whole day. I'll never forget leaning to kiss my new wife and catching her cheek. Edith, you can't imagine. Anyway, we had a miserable marriage. I managed her estate and mine, and when her father died I inherited everything, which pleased my father so greatly he went and died too. Madeline hated me, Edith, she was miserable. And I couldn't blame her because I didn't love her any more than she loved me."

Anthony told her of his friendship with Gregson, and the affair between Gregson and Madeline. "When I found them out I sent them away, together, with a small fortune in income and a house, with the understanding they would be discreet. I wanted her to be happy, Edith, I really did." Anthony paced as he told her of discovering the damage Gregson had done to the whole of Anthony's estate as manager, then how he learned of Madeline's death, and the loss of her child.

Trying to help him through, Edith asked, "And what then? You went after him, yes?"

"You said it last night, Edith. I'm a coward. I always have been."

"I didn't mean that, even when I said it," Edith mumbled, wishing it were true. He smiled drolly at her before moving on.

"I knew I wouldn't be able to kill him when I came down to it. So I went about following his trail. Like a madman I was, hunting down every soul he'd wronged. I forgot about Locksley, I forgot about everything except Gregson."

"But how?"

"I've been finding ways to put his businesses in jeopardy, hindering trade or destroying crops. It's different every time."

"While we were in Ciano Cay, for example," Edith urged, knowing very well they'd been up to something.

"The men went and smuggled all the slaves from Gregson's largest plantation, which was across the bay, and set the whole place ablaze after getting everyone out. We hid them below deck until we could get them to safety. Then, with nothing but a loss Gregson was forced to sell at a stupidly low price."

"But why would he ever sell to you?"

"He didn't. He wouldn't. He thinks he sold it to public auction, and it was then purchased by a Charles Carson."

"Carson?" Edith gasped.

Anthony almost looked pleased. "Every man on this ship down to young Will Mason owns a property now, whether here or in England or somewhere in between, that once belonged to the Gregsons. We buy them in their name, put the property to work again, then use the profits to buy others."

Edith's jaw nearly hit the floor. Anthony was brilliant, she'd known that from the beginning, but this was remarkable. She was very near laughing as it all sank in. "Will the boys keep them? The property I mean?"

"They can leave whenever they choose, set up shop so to speak. Just, none of them have yet."

"The ship," Edith asked eagerly, "How, how did you get the ship?"

"It's Dovey's, actually. He has his own vendetta against Gregson, which is his to tell, but I met him along the way and we sort of made an alliance."

Edith had so many more questions that they all collided in her head, created nothing but a humming numbness. When she looked up, Anthony seemed almost pained. He was standing near the bookshelves, a thumb pressed against his lips while the other hand flexed and fisted behind his back. "Do you, do you think me a terrible lout now? Or, I don't know, ridiculous. It's a stupid way for a man to spend his life, I realize."

"What of Locksley? The estate, I mean. Your home?"

Anthony took a deep breath. "I've been quite successful in regaining my father's money, and I've a man there I trust who is keeping up with things. The house is closed up, but maintained and in working order. The lands are all manned by tenant farmers. It's doing just what it should."

"So you say that Gregson is nearly finished, that he's bankrupt?"

"Yes, unless, of course, he marries the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in all of England," he said pointedly.

Edith scoffed at that, her mind wandering to the image of her father bailing Gregson out of one ill-advised investment after another. Her father had money, indeed, but only because he was barely allowed to handle it.

"Edith, I must know, darling. Can you bear it? Can you tie yourself to me?"

Edith looked up, his question as alarming as it was full of promise. "Oh, Anthony," she cooed, standing to meet him at the shelves. "If anything I'm more in love with you now than ever before."

"But how?" he asked, his hand cupping her jaw as he leaned closer to inspect her eyes.

"Because, my darling _pirate_, you've done nothing but restore what's rightfully yours. And you've done it by providing lost boys with property and income, raising and educating a dear child that you had no responsibility to, and freeing hundreds of slaves for heaven's sake. My god, Anthony, no one in their right mind could find you remotely culpable."

"But I've done nothing a gentleman should, Edith, and I've been doing this for so long I don't even know how to do anything else. Gregson's nearly finished, the plan was always to return to England, unloading the men wherever they chose along the way. And then what?"

Edith smiled, a broad thing that seemed to start at her very soul and stretch over her whole body. She leaned into Anthony's touch, trailing her hands up his chest and around his neck. "You finish what you started. You give Gregson everything he deserves, my love, and then you take your wife home to Locksley and live out your days in prosperity and joy."

To Edith's immense satisfaction, Anthony laughed, a bark of relief and merriment, before leaning down to kiss her.

A cough in the room separated the two lovers, who were blushing and giddy and still reeling from their conversation. Dovey stood in the doorway, looking just as shy and embarrassed.

"Pardon, Captain. We've reached Port Eulalia."

Anthony stood a little straighter, trying to look the part of leader as he said calmly, "Very good, Mr. Dovey. The gentleman are to have the night off, free to do as they please. And do keep an eye on Jonathan for me?"

Dovey nodded, looking mildly curious.

"And Dove, Lady Edith and I are soon to be wed. Please see to it we're not disturbed tonight."

Edith thought Mr. Dovey's face might split in two as the great, mysterious Persian smiled at both of them. He stomped forward, kissing Edith firmly on the cheek and said, "Blessed be today, Aga Aditi." He then turned to Anthony and said, "I take care of everything."

Left in silence as Dovey shut the door behind him, Edith and Anthony made eye contact before bursting into a fit of laughter. "I daresay he approves," Edith laughed.

"As will the others, I'm sure. They're all fond of their _Aga Aditi_."

Edith smiled, wrapping herself around Anthony again. "How long until you can be ready? I'd like to make myself a bit more presentable for the occasion."

"Will thirty minutes do? Then we'll go add another name to your list of epithets. Aga Aditi, Boundless Soul, Little Sword, Young One, Lady Edith Strallan, Wife of a Pirate."

"I rather like that," Edith mused before kissing her betrothed again before practically floating to her chambers to wash up as best she could. It was, after all, her wedding day.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Light M for the following. Ye be warned. ;)

* * *

Whenever Edith had pictured her wedding day, especially as an adult, she imagined a white-washed affair, formal and dreary, her father giving her away both literally and symbolically. She also imagined a feeling of stifling doom, as she assumed one might feel walking to the gallows.

She did not picture quietly disembarking a ship, skipping joyfully through a small Caribbean village, her future husband at her side, a satchel of gold in hand to pay whichever official they could find to perform some sort of legally binding ceremony.

"Ah, here, this may do it," Anthony said, pulling her into a Catholic church they happened across. It was nearly dark out and past the dinner hour. The church was dimly lit and entirely empty.

"Are we allowed to be in here? I'm not even Catholic."

"Neither am I, but I'm fairly certain a church will not turn anyone away," Anthony muttered, taking Edith by the hand and leading her through the simple stone chapel. He turned to Edith, kissing her briefly before saying, "Wait here, dearest. I'm going to go see if there's a rectory somewhere with a priest in it."

Edith sat in the nearest pew and took a moment to catch her breath. She had put on her finest dress, a simple lavender thing with a satin ribbon around the waist as its only embellishment. Anthony of coursed looked quite handsome in his distinguished navy coat and white breeches.

She had no bouquet, but Anthony gave her a string of pearls which he had apparently purchased months ago and had been holding for a special occasion. She fingered the pearls, smiling and blushing.

The church itself was cozy and warm, with domed ceilings and humble stone walls. There was a glass mosaic on the ceiling in cobalt and gold, made to look like the night sky, with particularly large stars adorned with the names of saints. It was tranquil, and pretty, and quite romantic really.

This was the exact opposite of anything she ever could have pictured for her wedding day, including the groom, and Edith was nearly blown-over with the perfection of it all.

Anthony emerged from a room to the left of the altar with a rather confused looking priest who was carrying a bible and struggling with his robes.

"Edith, this is Father Garcia, and he's agreed to marry us," Anthony said with a smile. The Father, looked somewhere between annoyed and concerned.

Edith nodded and moved to stand, but before she could Anthony was crouching at her feet, their hands folded together in her lap.

"Sweet one," he said, his great blue eyes boring into hers. "Are you positive this is what you want? It's not too late, you know, and I wouldn't blame you. I know it's not grand. You deserve masses flowers and flocks of white doves, a gown of the finest silk, and—"

"Anthony, none of that means anything to me," Edith interrupted. "Though I appreciate the thought. All that matters is that I'm yours. I'm not marrying you out of some ill-conceived idea of rebellion. I love you. It's like, like you're the missing half of my soul. Does that sound very ridiculous?"

Anthony's eyes turned watery as he knelt up to kiss Edith. They both blushed furiously when the Priest cleared his throat disapprovingly.

"If you are ready, and if you, young lady, are certain," Father Garcia said in a heavily Spanish accent. An old woman, presumably the rectory maid, came to bear witness, though she looked as displeased and skeptical as one could.

The two rose and stood before the Priest. Hand in hand, in the candlelit stone church on a small island in the middle of the Caribbean, Edith and Anthony pledged their troth before God and man. There was no ring on such short notice, and the Priest had to improvise slightly as it was not a traditional Catholic ceremony. There were some awkward pauses while he skipped certain religious traditions and made do with what they had.

Finally, the exasperated Priest closed his bible, folded his hands and said, "I pronounce you married."

Anthony shook his head at the lack of enthusiasm, but leaned down to kiss his wife thoroughly. "Lady Edith Strallan," he murmured against her cheekbone, his left hand caressing her neck while she held desperately to his right.

The Father _ahem_ed and suggested they leave him to his evening prayers. Edith and Anthony thanked him ardently before bursting from the church into the warm evening, no longer two but one, with a signed statement from the man to prove it.

"What would you like to do, my darling wife?" Anthony asked, kissing her hand.

"I'll bet anything you can guess exactly what I'd like to do," Edith laughed.

"Indeed, my wild girl. But first, perhaps a lavish meal? I have a surprise for you."

Anthony kissed Edith passionately before leading her down the road. In that moment, with the world spinning around them and her hand wrapped over Anthony's forearm, Edith felt invincible. It seemed as though the whole of existence lay at their feet, anything possible or manageable so long as they were together.

"You're awfully quiet," Anthony pointed out, turning them left down another street. "Not having second thoughts are you?"

"If you believe I could you're an even bigger fool than I thought," Edith teased, pulling tighter against him. "It is an adjustment, though."

"Oh?" he asked, and Edith looked up to find his expression more than a little worried.

"I've never been so happy, Anthony. Or so sure that someone loved me. I'm not used to it is all."

Anthony stopped, pulling Edith into a darkened little alley between two buildings. She leant against the wall, Anthony standing close with his hands on either side of her head. "I do love you, Edith. You're the most remarkable creature I've ever seen, all beauty and fight and will. I was dead, Edith. I was, but you, you've given me back my life. Do you understand? Have you any idea at all what you mean to me?"

Anthony looked almost desperate. It alarmed Edith, the strange emotion that read on his face. She brought a hand up to his cheek, trying to calm him. "Of course I know. I know, and I love you too."

"I'm not a strong man, darling. If I were I would have let you go. I never would have failed Madeline, I never would have failed my family. I never would have taken you in the first place," he rambled.

"And what a sad thing that would have been," Edith interrupted, kissing him softly. "There's no use raking over the past, Anthony. But we have a whole future, and we have it together. Just think, my dear husband." She paused as Anthony dropped his head to her neck, nuzzling her in a way that both sought comfort and gave affection. "Whatever happens, wherever we go, we go together. From now on I will always be at your side and neither of us will ever face anything alone again. Including," she said, kissing the shell of his ear, "Bed. You'll never sleep alone again, and neither will I. Isn't that the most wondrous thing?"

"How do you manage that?" Anthony mumbled, his nose running along her collarbone.

"Manage what?" she asked, her breath catching as his lips followed the path his nose had just tread.

"You're so brave, far braver than I could ever hope to be."

"I'm not, Anthony," Edith argued.

"You are, and beautiful, and funny, and brilliant," he said, emphasizing each word with a kiss, "And wise beyond your years, I can't believe you're only twenty. I should be hanged."

Edith scoffed, arching into the warmth of his body. "You're the kindest and most decent man I know. You also insisted on marrying me before you let me get anywhere near you, so if anyone's morals are in question, let them be mine."

They were pressed so close together now that Edith's blood seemed to burn. She pressed her hipbones forward guilelessly, her body trying to ease its own aching. Her arms wrapped around Anthony's head as he continued his exploration of her neck and clavicle and the skin above her breasts.

Anthony groaned, a strange sound Edith hadn't yet heard from him. She knew intrinsically it was a sound only a lover would be privy to, and the notion sent her head spinning. Only a raucous group of young men leaving a tavern at the other end of the alley broke the newlyweds apart.

"I'm sorry," Anthony said immediately, kissing Edith on the cheek before taking a few steps away. "I don't wish to… dishonor you with poor behavior in public."

"Oh Anthony," Edith laughed, "You're hopeless." She took him by the hand and led him back to the walk, her flushed skin cooling in the breeze off the ocean. "Now, let's get moving before I really lose control."

Anthony put her hand over his arm again and cleared his throat, looking very much the stoic sea captain she knew him to be.

Their destination, Edith soon discovered, was a rather luxurious little inn in the Spanish style on the outskirts of the town. They were led to a set of rooms, the west wall of which was open and exposed to the sea. A sheer white fabric was hung to protect from night bugs and blew quite happily in the evening air. On the table in their sitting area, an extravagant meal was spread.

"Oh my," Edith muttered, leaning into her husband. Anthony had a short conversation with the innkeeper in Spanish before slipping the squat little man several coins and shutting the door as Edith explored the room.

Lit only by a few candles, Edith could still make out Anthony's eyes when he turned to her.

"I thought it was the least I could do for you, my darling, on such short notice. I've not much to offer you in the way of wedding gallantry, but a bed and a bath on solid land I felt was absolutely necessary," Anthony said with a shrug.

The smell of the pork and the boiled potatoes and fruit on the table reminded Edith she had barely eaten today, but as she eyed her husband from across the room, she decided the wedding feast would have to wait.

"Shame, really," she sighed, approaching Anthony.

"What is, sweet?" he asked, his voice plagued with guilty concern.

"All this lovely food, a beautiful view of the moon on the sea, this rather capacious sitting room, and we're not going to appreciate any of it."

"We're not?" Anthony gulped.

Edith shook her head. "Which way, Anthony, is our room?" she asked calmly.

"It is through that door there, I believe," he answered, pointing to Edith's right. She nodded once, arched an eyebrow, and turned for it. She'd barely made it across the threshold before Anthony was behind her, arms wrapped around her waist and face buried in her neck.

"Did you do this?" Edith asked, tearing up a little at the spray of gardenias, moonflower, azaleas, and lilies that greeted her. The room, which consisted only of a huge four-poster bed and the same wall open to the sea, was absolutely covered in flowers, draped or resting on absolutely anything that would sit still. A few pillar candles offered the only scant light, but the moon cast its silvery glow on the white bouquets.

"I believe Barrow and Dovey must take credit for this one, love. Consider it their approval."

"I suppose they all know by now," she muttered, her hands reaching for Anthony's hair as they slowly made their way to the bed. "Will it be awkward, returning to the ship?"

"I shouldn't think so. If anyone makes you uncomfortable, I'll just run them through," Anthony offered as his hands went to work on the buttons down her back.

"Anthony Strallan, you would never harm a soul. I know you, I'm your wife."

He laughed once in response before turning her around and kissing her senseless.

Edith had been warned, by Nanny and on occasion her mother, and later by Lily, that there were certain duties every wife must endure. It had been understood all her life, with added details the older she got, that Edith would suffer as all women must. It would hurt, yes, and be a bit discomfiting for a while. Then the pain would ease, and with luck she would bear a son and she could more easily refuse her husband's advances.

Lily had gone so far as to warn her, though, that should she refuse too often her husband would seek his pleasure elsewhere. "Best to lie back and let him have it," she had said once, causing Edith to feel sick with worry.

Anthony Strallan proved all of them wrong. His characteristic patience and sensitivity allowed him to move slowly, and his practicality had him talking through each step and every alarming sensation. Even when she scrambled to hurry things forward he would kiss her on the forehead or the shoulder or some other innocuous place and remind her they had a whole lifetime ahead of them.

When they were both in the buff, Edith was surprised to see the difference between Anthony last night and now, in his more… excitable state. As he kissed her slowly while she lounged against the pillows, she felt it against her belly, and then drops of moisture.

"It's natural, darling. It's alright," he said softly, sliding his hand between her thighs. She nearly fainted at the sensations then, the warmth and the need. Like it had been on the beach, only stronger now that she needn't fight it so hard.

"You're very wet," he observed casually, causing Edith to tense. He must have sensed it because he smiled. "That too is natural, and quite… beneficial. It's a good thing," he explained.

"I'm, I'm sorry," Edith muttered, "I don't mean to, to…"

Anthony clamped his mouth on hers as his fingers fluttered against her, causing the strangest sensations to coil in her belly. When his mouth moved to her breast the coiling thing sprang forth and unfurled and Edith's whole body went tight as a sail against the wind.

"That's it, my darling, that's good. Don't struggle against it," he murmured.

When Edith caught her breath, she beamed at him. "You look rather smug."

"Indeed." A few more kisses then, and Edith's body was still aching.

"Is it, is it terribly wanton that I can feel such…release, such pleasure, and still…" She tried, embarrassed and unsure what it was exactly she was asking.

"It's a wonderful, remarkable thing, my darling wife, that you should want me. We're quite lucky," Anthony whispered, moving above her. "Are you ready?"

Edith nodded. Her hands finding his shoulders.

"Are you comfortable?"

She nodded again, her body humming with relief at the feel of him between her legs.

"Do you trust me?"

"With everything that I am," she answered without hesitation.

"Hold on to me, darling. I wish I could make this painless, but it will get better, I promise."

Edith Strallan, as she was now, wondered if any other husband could make such a statement, and then her mind went blank as Anthony moved to finally make them one. Her body knew what to do, it seemed, and Edith couldn't have had a rational thought if she wanted anyway. They rocked together, his body moving slowly but with an assurance that brought her both comfort and pleasure.

The coiling returned, and this time when it came undone it was a different sensation, slower and deeper and far more intense. With one last drive, Anthony enfolded Edith in his arms and whispered into her ear, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

After a long silence and the strange sorrow at Anthony pulling out of her, Edith found herself wrapped up in him beneath the linens, feeling rather drowsy and sated. "I can't believe your willpower," Edith murmured, still delighting in the fascination of his bare chest.

"How do you mean?" Anthony mumbled against her hair.

"You knew what this would be like, and you refused? _Twice_?"

Anthony's laugh was a low rumble and Edith felt it as much as heard it.

"Say it," Edith requested, knowing she needn't be more specific.

"Lady Edith Strallan," he acquiesced, kissing her hair.

Edith was still smiling, she was sure, when she fell asleep, and was smiling when they woke an hour later to do the whole thing over again.

The joy was not contained when they finally rose the next morning, sharing a tub and making themselves presentable. They were giddy like children as they romped over the little island, Anthony insisting on buying Edith some fine things now the shops and market were open.

Dresses, toiletries, and of course, a ring, though they argued for quite a while on how expensive and opulent said ring could be. They finally settled on a thin gold band inlaid with tiny emeralds and diamonds.

Perhaps it was the newness of it all, the promise of a lifetime, that allowed Edith and Anthony to be so openly affectionate and forget completely that she was a captive and he her captor. They enjoyed the reckless abandon for the day and a sorry lack of discretion, only heading for the ship as the sun turned the sky orange.

They made one last stop on their way, one Edith felt was a duty more than a real desire. A simple note read, "Mama, I'm alive and well, and immensely happy. Please do not worry, and do not inquire after me. Best, E." They dropped it at the post before walking back to the bay where the Lady Locksley waited, and Edith didn't give her mother or Gregson or anyone a second thought the rest of the day.

* * *

A/N: Ah! Such lovely reviews! I hope this wasn't overly fluffy. I rather needed it after this week's episode. JF is slowly becoming one of my least favorite people.

Thank you all, and especially our Baron, who's been an absolute dear of late.

Eleanor


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